Glenning's engagement was for eight o'clock the following evening, but he did not come till nine. Julia met him at the door, garbed in some dainty white stuff with lace about it, and wearing one rose in her hair, which waved from her forehead and was dressed low upon her neck.
"I must apologize for my tardiness," he said, gravely, as they walked into the library, which was softly lighted by a shaded lamp. "But as I was starting out I had an urgent call from a very poor family on the edge of town. A little child had fallen and broken its leg. It was a "charity call," but I hope you will pardon me. I could not let it suffer."
She felt a warm glow steal to her cheeks as she listened.
"You did right," she told him; "I was sure you had a good reason for being late."
He tried to speak of the race, but could not. She was also mute. The hour was too tense for conventionalities. A silence fell between them. Then suddenly the man gathered together all his moral strength and arose to his feet. She looked up quickly. He did not meet her eyes till he had walked to the mantel. Then, facing about, he leaned his elbow upon it, and returned her gaze.
"The time is ripe for an understanding between us," he said, the awful strain under which he was labouring making his voice unnatural.
The girl could see that the old haunting gloom had come to his eyes. He was very white, and the crescent scar upon his forehead was outlined sharply, even in the dim light.
"It is a tale I had rather suffer death than tell, but I owe it to you before I can speak of other things which are in my heart."
She caught her breath at this, a quick, sibilant intaking, and because her hands had at that moment begun to tremble, she clasped them in her lap. Her large, sympathetic eyes were watching him closely.
"It is hard to begin," he resumed, "but I must do it alone; you cannot help me. The fault has been mine; let the shame and anguish be mine, too. Would you object if I told you of something else first?--it seems I am doomed to ask you to forgive much tonight!"
The pathos and sorrow in his words were almost more than she could bear, but she signed her permission dumbly, and waited.
"I think it all began that first night I saw you, in such distress. At any rate, my interest in you and your life was deep and genuine from that hour. I learned of your reverses--of your father's investment in the bank stock. Then the time came when Marston withheld the dividend, and I knew that you were without resources. Tom Dillard and I got together to see what we could do. We seemed pretty helpless, for Marston had everything his own way. Then something happened to me which gave me an idea. I had an uncle, too, whom I had not seen for years. He died a short time ago, and part of his estate came to me. It was in the shape of a life insurance policy which he had taken out in my favour without ever letting me know. When the check from the company came to me, through my uncle's attorneys, the temptation was more than I could resist." He left the mantel and took one step towards her, then stood firm-footed as he resumed, desperately. "I did it. I did it all. I fabricated the story of your uncle's death, and the lawyer who sent Major Dudley that check from St. Louis was my good friend, to whom I wrote. He simply had to buy eastern exchange in place of the insurance company's check. It was simple enough. Forgive me. I place my trust in your feeling heart and seeing soul, for without a clear vision and complete understanding in an affair like this there can be no forgiveness. Soon I will tell you why I did it all."