"I listened until it nearly drove me mad, and again I awoke him. When I repeated his words he was angry, as he had been before, and at the same time confused. But he tried to laugh it off, and demanded that I think no more of the episode. In short, his manner was so strange and unnatural that I was worried nearly to distraction. How could I refrain from thinking of it? Of what use was it to bid my thoughts occupy themselves with other matters when they continued to circle about this dreadful secret which preyed so heavily upon his mind? Mr. Converse, you can't imagine the expedients I adopted to dissipate my fears, the casuistry I employed to banish my doubts. I would argue that his sense of honor was so exalted, his standard so high, that a very little thing might grievously trouble him, which might appear trivial to another man. But how could this idea be reconciled with his wild words of death?
"The next morning he announced to me that he would thenceforward sleep in another room. I made no comment, but superintended the removal of his things.
"I lay awake all that night and most of the next; then—then—"
Once more she paused. She plucked nervously at a fold of her skirt, manifesting the greatest reluctance to go on. But her nature was not to be swayed by trifles; if a painful confidence were once undertaken, it was quite plain she would press it to the end, sparing neither herself nor whomsoever else it might affect. All at once she folded her hands with an easy, natural movement and continued:
"Mr. Converse, where I would not openly seek light, I was not above listening in secret: in dressing-gown and slippers I stole to his door during the early morning hours, and knelt with my ear to the keyhole.
"Many times I was rewarded with no spoken words—only the evidences of a troubled and broken slumber. At other times I heard him say things that made my blood run cold: 'Man, before you do this thing I will kill you with my own hands'; again, 'Why did you not tell me this man is living?' At times he cursed some one in a terrible voice, and once—once—" She leant suddenly forward and fixed upon him a gaze moving in its intensity. "Mr. Converse, is this confidence buried within your own bosom?"
"It is," he replied, with convincing gravity.
"Once," she went on, leaning back again, "I heard him groan, 'Elinor, I may never look upon your face again; mea culpa! mea culpa!'" Of a sudden she clenched one hand convulsively and struck smartly an arm of the chair. "Good God! what could that mean?" she cried with a startling fierceness; then, one quick intake of breath, and she was again her usual tranquil, collected self. She attempted a little smile. "You see," she said, in a deprecating way, "that those confidences to the night have not yet lost their power to disturb me—and I am not easily moved." She remained silent for a time, as if collecting her thoughts; presently she resumed the narrative.
"There were certain names mentioned by him times innumerable. I have heard Castillo, Alberto de Sanchez, Paquita, my daughter's name, and Fernando—"
"Fernando?" Converse interpellated, sharply.