"Yes," he said. "Everything is strange to-night. It is like a new world, and—and I have not found my way—yet."
She drew back still further.
"Are you mad?" she whispered.
"No," he answered. "Not now—that is past."
She looked at him for a little time; and, her hands joined before her, her fingers locked and interlocked nervously.
"And—and Thornton?" she asked, at last.
"It was a trust," said Madison slowly; "but it was betrayed before it was given. He did not know—the game. He did not know what was between—you and me."
"No," she said—and the word came almost inaudibly.
"And so," he said, "I will tell you, for it cannot matter now in any case. He told me that he had asked you to marry him to-night—and that you had refused."
Madison paused, and swept his hand across his forehead—his voice somehow had suddenly grown hoarse, beyond control.
"Yes," she said and reached again for the back of the bench, supporting herself against it.
"He is going away," Madison continued; "and he is to send more money here for the 'cause'—when I ask for it—only you are not to know, because you might be diffident about taking it after refusing him."
She stared at him numbly—there was no sar-
