“Oh, Sister, I am in sore trouble. For the love of the good God, whom you are vowed to serve, tell me all you know about him you call Lidwell.”
The nun lay back for a moment as if to recover her self-command. Then she said in a firmer tone, but hurriedly, and with a foreign accent:
“If I tell you all I know about him, I need only tell you that you are the happiest woman in the whole world.”
“But he is in great danger. He has an enemy; a ruthless, unscrupulous enemy who is determined on his ruin—to take his life even.”
“Who is this enemy? What is his name?” asked the nun, with awakening interest.
“Truscott—Ralph Truscott.”
“I never heard of him. He is an Englishman. I do not know any Englishman that knew Lidwell. But now tell me—how does this Truscott threaten him? Tell me all—then I can possibly help you. Do not fear, I shall keep your secret as closely as the grave. I am dead to the world, remember.”
Lilian needed no further persuasion. She poured forth the whole of her woeful and heart-breaking story into this stranger’s ear; the first, in fact, to hear it. At one point in her narrative the listener’s pale face flushed, and her eyes burned, but mastering herself, she preserved her impassibility to the end.
“You did well indeed to tell me all,” she said, when Lilian ceased. “It was indeed the finger of Heaven that directed me here to-day. The man, Truscott, has told you infamous lies, and his threats are powerless. He cannot harm your lover, about whom at that time no one knows more than I. But—guess. Who do you think I am—or was?”
A light seemed to dawn upon Lilian, but the other anticipated her.