She had risen, and as they faced each other under the lamp the swaying carnations almost touched his glossy black head.
Lifting her tightly locked hands in entreaty, her voice vibrated like a lute string rudely swept.
"Don't, oh, don't break my heart! Help me to shield my father from shame, and I will bless you as long as I live. I am so wretched—the world is going to pieces—and I am clinging to you as the one rock of safety, the sole refuge that will not fail me. If you ever really loved me, oh, Mr. Noel, have mercy on me now!"
His face hardened, and, unwilling to trust his voice, he shook his head. She staggered as if from a blow, but after a moment her cheeks flamed, and banked fires glowed in her dilated eyes.
"Eglah, when did your father have the cruelty to tell you about the papers in my possession?"
"He never told me. He does not suspect I know, and he must not find out I am aware of their existence; because I could not bear that such an additional sorrow should overtake him. My father! It is your will and purpose to ruin him in his old age?"
"Only Judge Kent and I were cognizant of the existence of that box. May I ask how you obtained your information?"
"I was in his bedroom next to the library when you and father came in. The door was open, and through the thin curtain I heard every word—every cruel, horrible word, that cut my heart like a dagger. At first, when you spoke of not wishing me to know, I felt I had no right to listen, but some things had long perplexed me, things that father would not explain, and I determined to make an end of mysteries."
All tenderness had vanished from his set face, and his blue-grey eyes watched her much as a judge might a witness on the stand.
The train had entered a deep, rocky cut, and the clattering roar sounded a verbal truce. When it rushed through a meadow, Mr. Herriott put his hands behind him.