Part 40 (2/2)

”They will be kinder than my friends--or those I dared to hope might be my friends. But I understand----”

”You understand?”

”That it is too late--there is no forgiveness for sin meditated.”

”No forgiveness?”

Her lips were quivering, her eyes full of tears. All the hardness had gone from the little face which was raised to his.

Morice was trembling, less from weakness now than the hope with which those eyes inspired him.

”You believe me?”

”I do.”

”Cecile!”

She was in his arms, sobbing out all the despair and horror of those three days. His shame had been hers, and more bitter to hear of than his death. But Gabrielle's story had helped to clear a name she held so dear, yet left her doubtful, and utterly miserable.

Dead without proof that penitence had been sincere! Mother of G.o.d! it had seemed to break her heart.

And now, why! now she wept--wept tears of joy and thankfulness which swept aside despair.

He was alive--alive, and on his way to Varenac.

That last thought sent a chill through throbbing pulses.

To Varenac!

She remembered how Jehan had brought Gabrielle to Kernak, and how grim he had looked when rumours of the approaching Terror reached them. It was not only at St. Malo that the ”widow” claimed her victims.

And at Varenac Lord Denningham, the avowed friend of Marcel Trouet, still remained. She s.h.i.+vered at the thought.

Gabrielle had told her much of this man, and her belief that he could, if he chose, explain the reason of Morice's disappearance.

Yes, she feared Lord Denningham almost as much as the Terror.

Yet it was true that Morice must go to Varenac.

It might not be too late even now to do something for the Cause.

But he should not go alone.

”You must return with me to Kernak,” she whispered. ”Jehan is there.

He will go with you. You--you must prove to him, too, that you are Monsieur le Marquis.”

The faintest smile parted her trembling lips.

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