“Who was that? Whose voice was that?” she asked in almost a shriek.
Mabin sprang forward and put a caressing arm round her.
“He will never come near you again,” she whispered, feeling that concealment of the identity of their neighbor with the supposed phantom was no longer possible.
But, to her distress and amazement, Mrs. Dale’s face instantly grew rigid with grief and despair, and she sank, trembling and moaning, to the ground.
“I knew it! I was sure of it! Oh, my punishment is too great for me to bear!” she whispered hoarsely.
CHAPTER XII.
A HORRIBLE SECRET.
Poor Mabin gazed down blankly at the crouching figure of Mrs. Dale.
Were the complications of this mysterious history never to end. The little lady had shown terror at the mere sight of this man’s portrait; she had abandoned a room in which she had, as she thought, only dreamt of him. And yet now, when Mabin tried to reassure her by repeating his assurance that he would not force himself upon her again, the inconsistent woman gave every sign of the most profound sorrow.
Mabin looked, with her perplexity puckering her pretty face, at Rudolph, who had emerged from the wood in his turn. He however, was too deeply intent upon watching Mrs. Dale to notice his fiancée’s expression, and Mabin felt a pang of jealousy, which she tried in vain to stifle.
“Don’t talk to her,” said Rudolph presently, as Mrs. Dale struggling with herself, and still white and trembling, got upon her feet. “Run into the house, Mabin, and get some eau de Cologne, and—and don’t go too fast, or you will get a headache.”