"You have been to France?" he declared.
"No," I corrected; "Miss Urquhart has been here."
He fell back, then started forward again, opened his lips and stared wildly, half fearfully about the room.
"Here?" he repeated, evidently overcome at the idea. "Why did they send her here? I should as soon have expected them to send her into the murk of the bottomless pit. A girl, an innocent girl, you say, and sent here?"
"They had reason; besides, she did not come alone."
This time he understood me.
"Oh!" he shrieked, "she in the house. I might have known it," he went on more calmly; "I did, only I would not believe it. Her crime has drawn her to the place of its perpetration. She could not resist the magnetic influence which all places of blood have upon the guilty. She has come back! And he?"
I shook my head.
"The man had less courage," I declared. "Perhaps because he was more guilty; perhaps because he had less love."
"Love?"