"I asked you to come in, sir," he began, haltingly, "to tell you something very special. Miss Strange knows it already.... If I've done wrong in not telling you before ... you'll see I'm prepared to take my punishment.... My name isn't Strange ... it isn't Herbert."
"I know it isn't."
The words slipped out in a sharp tone, not quite nervous, but thin and worn. Miriam's attitude grew tense. Ford took a step forward from the fireside. With his arm flung over the back of his chair, and his knee resting on the seat of it, he strained across the table, as if to annihilate the space between Wayne and himself.
"You knew?"
The blind man nodded. When he spoke it was again into the air.
"Yes; I knew. You're Norrie Ford. I ought to say I've only known it latterly—about a fortnight now."
"How?"
"Oh, it just came to me—by degrees, I think."
"Why didn't you say something about it?"
"I thought I wouldn't. It has worried me, but I thought I'd keep still."