"Ask freely. I have been candid with you, in my desire to ascertain how I could help you in your trouble. Be equally candid with me."
"But it may be misconstrued. I am ashamed that it should have suggested itself--for which, of course, the worser part of me is responsible. No--it shall remain unspoken."
"I should prefer that you asked it--nay, I desire you to do so. There is no fear of misconstruction. Do you think I wish to stand in your eyes as a perfect man? That would be arrogant, indeed. Or that I do not know that you and I and all men are possessed of contradictions which, viewed in certain aspects, may degrade the most noble? The purest of us--men and women alike--have undignified thoughts, unworthy imaginings, to which we would be loth to give utterance. But sometimes, as in this instance, it becomes a duty. I have had occasion quite lately to question myself closely, and I have fallen in my own estimation. There is more baseness in me than I imagined. Hesitate no longer. Ask your question, and as many more as may arise from it; these things are frequently hydra-headed. I shall know how far to answer without disclosing what I desire shall remain buried."
Almer put his question boldly.
"Is the fate of a woman involved in your secret?"
An almost imperceptible start revealed to Almer's eyes that another chance arrow had hit the mark. Truly, a woman's fate formed the kernel of the Advocate's secret--a virtuous, innocent woman who had been most foully murdered. He answered in set words, without any attempt at evasion.
"Yes, a woman's fate is involved in it."
"Your wife's?" Had his life depended upon it, Almer could not have kept back the words.
"No, not my wife's."
"In that case," said Almer slowly, "a man's honour is concerned."