About three o’clock that afternoon Arthur returned to the Quinta, having lunched on board the Roman. He found Mildred sitting in her favourite place on the museum verandah. She was very pale, and, if he had watched her, he would have seen that she was trembling all over, but he did not observe her particularly.

“Well,” he said, “it is all nonsense about half the crew being drowned; only one man was killed, by the fall of a spar, poor chap. They ran into Vigo, as I thought. The other mail is just coming in- but what is the matter, Mildred? You look pale.”

“Nothing, dear; I have a good deal to think of, that is all.”

“Ah, yes! Well, my love, have you made up your mind?”

“Why did I refuse to marry you before; for your sake, or mine, Arthur?”

“You said — absurdly, I thought — for mine!”

“And what I said I meant, and what I meant, I mean. Look me in the face, dear, and tell me, upon your honour as a gentleman, that you love me, really love me, and I will marry you tomorrow.”

“I am very fond of you, Mildred, and I will make you a good and true husband.”

“Precisely; that is what I expected, but it is not enough for me. There was a time when I thought that I could be well satisfied if you would only look kindly upon me, but I suppose that l’appetit vient en mangeant, for, now you do that, I am not satisfied. I long to reign alone. But that is not all. I will not consent to tie you, who do not love me, to my apron-strings for life. Believe me, the time is very near when you would curse me, if I did. You say”— and she rose and stretched out her arm —“that you will either marry me or go. I have made my choice. I will not beat out my heart against a stone. I will not marry you. Go, Arthur, go!”

A great anxiety came into his face.

“Do you fully understand what you are saying, Mildred? Such ties as exist between us cannot be lightly broken.”

“But I will break them, and my own heart with them, before they become chains so heavy that you cannot bear them. Arthur”— and she came up to him, and put her hands upon his shoulders, looking, with wild and sorrowful eyes, straight into his face —“tell me now, dear — do not palter, or put me off with any courteous falsehood — tell me as truly as you will speak upon the judgment-day, do you still love Angela Caresfoot as much as ever?”

“Mildred, you should not ask me such painful questions; it is not right of you.”

“It is right; and you will soon know that it is. Answer me.”

“Then, if you must have it, I do.”

Her face became quite hard. Slowly she took her hands from his shoulders.

“And you have the effrontery to ask me to marry you with one breath, and to tell me this with the next. Arthur, you had better go. Do not consider yourself under any false obligation to me. Go, and go quickly.”

“For God’s sake, think what you are doing, Mildred!”

“Oh! I have thought — I have thought too much. There is nothing left but to say good-bye. Yes, it is a very cruel word. Do you know that you have passed over my life like a hurricane, and wrenched it up by the roots?”

“Really, Mildred, you mystify me. I don’t understand you. What can be the meaning of all this?”

She looked at him for a few seconds, and then answered, in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice.

“I forgot, Arthur; here are your English letters;” and she drew them from her bosom and gave them to him. “Perhaps they will explain things a little. Meanwhile, I will tell you something. Angela Caresfoot’s husband is dead; indeed, she was never really married to him.” And then she turned, and slowly walked towards the entrance of the museum. In the boudoir, however, her strength seemed to fail her, and she sank on a chair.

Arthur took the letter, written by the woman he loved, and warm from the breast of the woman he was about to leave, and stood speechless. His heart stopped for a moment, and then sent the blood bounding through his veins like a flood of joy. The shock was so great that for a second or two he staggered, and nearly fell. Presently, however, he recovered himself, and another and very different thought overtook him.

Putting the letters into his pocket, he followed Mildred into the boudoir. She was sitting, looking very faint, upon a chair, her arms hanging down helplessly by her side.

“Mildred,” he said, hoarsely.

She looked up with a faint air of surprise.

“What............