The tears that had filled her dark eyes rained down her face then, and the sight determined him.
“You may do as you like, Mrs. Payton, but I refuse to leave you, trust me or not, as you will. I cannot see a lady in distress and leave her so.”
“Then I must trust you,” she said. “I must tell you my story, and, when it is told, perhaps you will turn from me in loathing and disgust.”
“Never while I live. I believe in you. If there is wrong, it is not of your doing, and I shall say so before the whole world.”
“How I should have thanked God for a champion like you years ago,” she said. “Mr. Eyrle, come with me to the house. First let me ask you, have you never wondered who I am, and why I am here?”
“Yes,” he replied, frankly.
“Then promise me not to hate me when I tell you my real name.”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
LADY PELHAM.
Many pictures lived in Kenelm Eyrle’s mind, one of the fairest was that of the balcony, with its twisted pillars and odorous flowers, where he sat that morning to hear Lady Pelham’s story.
A large laburnum, with drooping, golden tresses, was near them, in full flower; a lilac, with full, tufted plumes, filled the air with fragrance; the white acacias were all in bloom; the mavis sang in the trees; there was a vision of drooping limes and spreading oaks, a balcony that might have served the “Queen of the Fairies” as a drawing-room.