He looked at her helplessly. His tongue clave to the roof of his mouth; he could not speak. With a bitter cry she fell upon her knees before him and seized his hands.
"You know—you know! Oh, Hubert, clear my father's name! Never mind whom you sacrifice! Let the punishment fall on the head of the wrong-doer not on my dear, dear father's! I will forgive you for having been silent so long, if now you will only speak. I will love you always, I will give you my life, if you will but let the truth be known!"
He gathered his forces together by an almost superhuman effort, and managed to speak at last; but the sweat stood in great drops on his brow.
"Cynthia, don't—don't speak so, for God's sake! I know nothing, I have nothing to say!"
Clinging to his knees, she looked up at him, her eyes full of supplication.
"Is the cost too great?" she cried. "Will you not tell the truth for my sake—for Cynthia's sake?"
Scarcely knowing what he did, he pushed back his chair, and wrenched himself free from her entreating hands.
"I cannot bear this, Cynthia! If I could——But it is of no use; I have nothing—nothing to tell."
He had moved away from her; but he came back when he saw that she had fallen forward with her face on the chair where he had been sitting. He leaned over her. At first he thought that she had fainted; but presently the movement of her shoulders showed him that she was but vainly endeavoring to suppress a burst of agonising sobs.
"Cynthia," he said, "believe in my love, darling! If you believe in nothing else, you may be sure of that."