"Why?"
"Because—you are sure you won't be angry—because I thought you hated women!"
"Father Esteban is a priest," said Hurlstone, with a faint smile, "and you know he thinks kindly of your sex."
"Yes; but perhaps HIS life was never spoiled by some wicked woman like—like yours."
For an instant he gazed intently into her eyes.
"Who told you that?"
"No one."
She was evidently speaking the absolute truth. There was no deceit or suppression in her clear gaze; if anything, only the faintest look of wonder at his astonishment. And he—this jealously guarded secret, the curse of his whole wretched life, had been guessed by this simple girl, without comment, without reserve, without horror! And there had been no scene, no convulsion of Nature, no tragedy; he had not thrown himself into yonder sea; she had not fled from him shrinking, but was sitting there opposite to him in gentle smiling expectation, the golden light of Todos Santos around them, a bit of bright ribbon shining in her dark hair, and he, miserable, outcast, and recluse, had not even changed his position, but was looking up without tremulousness or excitement, and smiling, too.
He raised himself suddenly on his knee.
"And what if it were all true?" he demanded.