"Are you sure?" she asked.
"I am sure of nothing," I replied. "But it seems to me an accident—and yet. But there. I am incapable of reasoning in my present mood. I shall see you again. In the meanwhile—think of Weldon's last words to you and do not grieve too much!"
"And you?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I have never felt more miserable. And already I am beginning to fancy I might have saved him."
"How?"
"By going yesterday to your father and Dr. Belleville and forcing them at the muzzle of a revolver to tell me things they know and which I want to know."
"You rave," she muttered coldly, and slowly climbed the steps.
I followed her and rang the bell.
"If you persist in thinking my father a bad man, I never want to speak to you again," she whispered.
There were steps in the passage. I took off my hat to her. "I must mend my thoughts," I said.