"Ah! so Jack has betrayed me!" said he, as he commenced to read. "And you are not angry at my deception?" He looked into her eager, appealing face. "It is I who must ask forgiveness, but——"
"But you hurt me very much indeed," broke in Madge. "You should not have done it; no, you should not. I said things—I misjudged you, because you—oh, you had disappointed me—wounded me so much." Her eyes grew humid and her last words faltered and fell almost to a whisper.
"I—I thought the end justified the means," stammered Cyril. He scarcely knew what to say. He turned to the letter again.
There followed a momentary silence while Cyril read on. Suddenly his heart bounded wildly, and the writing swam before his eyes as he came to Jack's declaration of freedom. He dropped the letter and turned to her.
"Miss Westbrook—Madge—tell me—you must! Did you love him?"
"I—I had promised," she whispered, with drooping eyelids.
"Promised! Promised! Only promised? I always thought you loved him," exclaimed Cyril.
Madge did not reply, but the colour surged sudden and warm into her half-averted cheek.
"My dear! my dear!" said he, passionately, as he caught both her hands in his. "It was I that loved you after all—not Jack. I deceived you for your sake, not for his. What could I do? Could I see you suffer? I have loved you from the first, but I never thought to tell you this. Is it useless for me to do so now? Madge, dear, is it? Is it?"
There was no reply, but as he drew her unresisting form towards him he read his answer in her uplifted, happy eyes.