Ng you and Beulah together in Boston, and how she begged me to bring her home. But--for God's sake!--I didn't do it. I didn't have to. Mary believed. How could she help believing--the gossip, and poor little Beulah sobbing out her story. Beulah said it was you who got the best of her. She didn't want to say it, she faltered and choked on the lie, but _his_ eyes were on her, and his voice urged her, and so she had to say it. The very way she carried on made the lie seem true. "Well, Mary did just what he expected her to do. She promised to help Beulah; she told Beulah she would make you make amends. Then she rushed out of the house and met you coming along the cliff road--coming along all spruced up, and with the look about you of one going to meet a lady. Just as _he_ planned. "What more could Mary ask in the way of evidence than the sight of you in that place at that time? Of course she was convinced, completely convinced. And she behaved just as he knew she would behave--she denounced you, and threw your ring in your face, and raced off home. And you behaved just as he knew you would behave. He was a slick devil! He knew your pride and temper; he counted on them. He knew you would be too proud to chase Mary down and demand a full explanation; that you would be too angry to sift the thing to the bottom. You packed up and went off to New York that night to join your ship--and that was just what he wanted you to do. "Next morning you were gone, and--they picked up little Beulah at the bottom of the cliffs. And you gone in haste, without a word. They said she jumped--desertion, despair, you know what they would make of it. The gossip--and Ab