"Yes, I am that hapless creature whom you knew as Ida May."

For an instant there was silence, broken only by the sound of the labored breathing of Miss Fernly, Hildegarde, and Eugene Mallard.

In an instant the haughty heiress had recovered herself. She recoiled from the girl who advanced pleadingly before her.

"Hildegarde! Hildegarde!" Ida cried, much to the astonishment of Miss Fernly and her companion, "I did not know that it was you whom I was to confront in this awful hour!"

But Hildegarde shrunk still further from her. How dared this creature, who had passed those weeks at Newport a living lie, to claim acquaintance with her !

She flushed crimson, and retreated from her in abhorrence, wondering how this creature had come here, accompanied by her aunt and lover.

"Hildegarde!" cried Ida May, "listen, for the love of Heaven, and do not judge me too harshly until you have heard all!"

Sobbing wildly, Ida caught at the hem of Hilde[125]garde's dress.

"Auntie!" cried Hildegarde, turning to her relative, "I do not care to listen to anything this—this person has to say. The very air she breathes stifles me. Eugene!" she cried, springing to her lover's side, "take me in to the drawing-room. I—I can not talk to this young girl."

He did not clasp her in his arms, though he . His arms fell to his sides, and his head drooped to his breast .

He was enduring torture so acute that many a man would have fainted under the strain of it.

Hildegarde looked up into his face in wonder.

"Eugene, my darling!" she cried "are you ill? Tell me! Something terrible must be the matter! Why do you not speak?"

In that instant she seemed to forget the presence of everybody, save the lover who had parted from her a few hours since, and who was now standing before her so greatly changed .

She looked from one to the other in consternation.

"Something has happened," she said. "Why do you keep me in suspense?"

"I am trying to tell you," sobbed Ida May, "but you will not listen."

"Must I listen to her, auntie?" cried Hildegarde, turning to her aunt.

"Yes," said Miss Fernly, "you must listen, my poor child, while I pray to Heaven to give you strength to bear it."

"Eugene!" cried the girl, "why are you silent?"

He could not answer her. He only looked at her with a world of woe in his gaze, his whole frame trembling with anguish.

Ida May never knew in what words she told her strange story. Hildegarde listened like one turned to stone. Ida May told her of the awful mistake that had blasted two lives and parted two who fondly loved each other.