“I am.”
“I have come on a strange errand, Mr. Temple,” continued Webster; “but I have come because I believe it to be my duty to do so. I am the nephew of two ladies whom you used to know; of the ladies to whose care you confided the young lady whom you afterward married from their house.”
John Temple bowed his head; his face contracted as if with pain.
“I understand,” he said in a low tone. “Have—have you anything to tell me?”
Webster hesitated for a moment and then went on.
“I knew this young lady; I met her at my aunts’, and I knew you also by name, and had been told of your marriage. But in the course of my professional career I met another lady—Miss Kathleen Weir—and from her I learned the early history of her life and her connection with you.”
Temple’s lip curled.
“Has she sent you to me?” he said. “I presume you know she came here, and wished to make some arrangement?”
“Yes, I know,” answered Webster, gravely. “No, she has not sent me here—Miss Kathleen Weir is dead.”
“Dead! impossible!” cried John Temple, and his face grew pale.