"What! You don't want to know why I gave Miss Cass up?"
"No; for then I should have to tell her--she would get it out of me in some way. You know what women are."
"I know what one woman is, at least; and she is a mother," murmured Neil. "No, you must not tell Ruth; it could do no good, and might do much harm."
"Then speak of something else. You are exciting yourself unnecessarily."
Even as he spoke, the nerve storm came on with unusual violence; the wretched man seemed possessed by seven demons which tore him in pieces; he rose from his seat and strode furiously about the room, trying to prevent himself from crying out. Finally, he dropped exhausted into a chair and sobbed violently. Geoffrey Heron, quite astonished at this outburst, hastily got a glass of water, but in seizing it, Webster broke it with the strength of his grasp. "I must tell you--I must!" he panted. "I must tell someone, or die. My mother is in prison--on a charge of murder; she was accused of killing--killing, I say--my father!" And he fell back weeping, trembling, completely crushed.
"Good Heavens cried Heron, stepping back. His pity for the poor young fellow was sincere; and now he felt he could understand in some degree what a torture his life had been to him. He could understand, moreover, why Neil had surrendered all claim to the hand of Ruth.
"You--you--won't tell her?"
"No; on my honour, I won't," said Geoffrey. "I wish you had not told me; but now that I do know, your secret is, at any rate, safe with me."
"The valerian," said Neil, nodding towards the sideboard, and while Heron got it, he loosened his collar and drenched himself with cold water. Then he mixed a stiff dose of the drug, and drank it it with a sigh of relief. Heron looked at him anxiously.
"I had better go now, hadn't I?" he said. "You must go to bed. To-morrow morning----"