Yet the noble girl shrank not from the task which the stern voice of duty had assigned.

She would bear it without a murmur.

None save Mary Douglas should know the depths of feeling of which her nature was capable.

Gerald Bereford would acknowledge the daily attention of a kind and dutiful wife.

No human being should know a secret that was to her more than life--a soul within--a burning, smouldering fire, around which clings the shuddering form of outraged Hope.