The Rector of St. Marks

He knew it hurt by the agonizing expression of her face, but he could

not go near her for a moment, so overwhelming was his surprise at what

he saw and heard. But, when the first shock to them both was past, and

he could listen to her more rational account of what she knew and what

she was there to do, he refused to listen. He would not be free. He

would keep his word, he said. Matters had gone too far to be suddenly

ended. He held her to his promise and she must be his wife.

"Can you tell me truly that you love me more than Anna?" Lucy asked, a

ray of hope dawning for an instant upon her heart, but fading into

utter darkness as Arthur hesitated to answer.

He did love Anna best, though never had Lucy been so near supplanting

even her as at that moment, when she stood before him and told him he

was free. There was something in the magnitude of her generosity which

touched a tender chord and made her dearer to him than she had ever

been.

"I can make you very happy," he said at last, and Lucy replied: "Yes, but yourself--how with yourself? Would you be happy, too? No,

Arthur, you would not, and neither should I, knowing all I do. It is

best that we should part, though it almost breaks my heart, for I have

loved you so much."

She stopped for breath, and Arthur was wondering what he could say to

persuade her, when a cheery whistle sounded near and Thornton Hastings

appeared in the door. He had gone to the office after church, and not

knowing that anyone but Arthur was in the library, had come there at

once.

"I beg your pardon," he said when he saw Lucy, and he was hurrying

away, but Lucy called him back, feeling that in him she should find a

powerful ally to aid her in her task.

Appealing to him as Arthur's friend, she repeated the story rapidly,

and then went on: "Tell him it is best--he must not argue against me, for I feel myself

giving way through my great love for him, and it is not right. Tell

him so Mr. Hastings--plead my cause for me--say what a true woman

ought to say, for, believe me, I am in earnest in giving him to Anna."

There was a ghastly hue upon her face, and her features looked pinched

and rigid, but the terrible heart-beats were not there. God, in his

great mercy, kept them back, else she had surely died under that

strong excitement. Thornton thought she was fainting, and, going

hastily to her side, passed his arm around her and put her in the

chair; then, standing protectingly by her, he said just what first

came into his mind to say. It was a delicate matter in which to

interfere, and he handled it carefully, telling frankly of what had

passed between himself and Anna, and giving it as his opinion that she

loved Arthur to-day just as well as before she left Hanover.