"Sit down—here where you were before; it will not seem so much like your talking to me from a distance."
I obeyed. The chairs were quite close together.
"It seems to me," I went on, "that we should continue in the direction that has been pointed out for us; follow the light, however dim. There is a mystery here, and we are just now only skimming the surface of it; let's plunge below and see if we can't bring up at least a part of the truth.
"It is hard to believe that Alfred Fluette has been instrumental in Felix Page's death, even indirectly, but harder, more unjust to him, to pause without dissipating the cloud we have unexpectedly cast over him. The temptation to scrutinize his conduct and bearing is irresistible. Is it not better to lay bare all the facts, than to leave matters in the equivocal condition they now are?"
"You mean," she murmured brokenly, "you mean that—now—after what has happened between us—the duty of pressing forward at whatever cost is far more imperative than any other obligation that I may be under; that the innocent must not be sacrificed to shield the guilty."
That was precisely what I meant, but I lacked the courage to tell her.
"My dear Miss Cooper!" I said, in a voice as tremulous with emotion as her own.
"I trust you," she said simply.
I knew not what to say; her faith in me was manifestly so boundless that I was humbled to the earth. And yesterday we were ignorant of each other's very existence! Stressful circumstance can level the conventions with amazing swiftness.
"You are trembling," she whispered presently. "I am making what would be a commonplace matter very difficult for you."