The return of Harry Horton, her husband, the next afternoon, contrite and humility itself, was unpleasant, but they reached an understanding, pending the return of Barry Quinlevin from Ireland. She kept the secret of her visit to the house in the Rue Charron and her knowledge of the escape of the prisoner. She saw that her husband was worried and furtive and she had no difficulty in exacting from him a promise not to molest her. In return she promised silence, and he departed with every protestation of friendship and good will, somewhat reassured as to her intentions.
As to Jim Horton, the twin brother who had worked such havoc in her life, Moira was very much troubled and disturbed. The hurt to her pride was grievous but the joy she had in the very thought of him seemed to assuage all wounds. She knew now that if he had died in the house in the Rue Charron that night she would have worshiped him all her life as a martyr to their unfortunate affection. And the memories of Jim Horton's tenderness on the day of their parting, the gentleness of his abnegation, his struggle against the temptation of her nearness—all these thoughts of him obliterating the horrors that had followed, returned and engulfed her with pity. Their love had seemed so perfect a thing! But now—a mockery!
She felt very friendless in the big studio, very much alone. And yet—could she confess to her father her love for this brother who had come in and taken Harry's place? The hurt to her pride burned again angrily. Her father, like herself, had been deceived by the brother at the hospital and what sympathy could she expect from him? He would be furious at the deception that had been practiced upon them both, and would perhaps take Harry's part against her.
Moira clenched her hands and stared long into the gray cinders of the fireplace. If it was to be war, she would fight. She had married Harry in a moment of pity because her father had wished it, but the understanding had been definite. And now she would rather run away—even from her father—than to fulfill the terrible vows she had taken. Jim Horton—she wanted to hear his side of the story. Reviving faith in him made her sure that if he were alive he would come to her and tell her everything....
A cautious step on the stair outside—a knock. She went over quickly, turned the key in the lock, opened the door, then stood staring, unable to speak.
"It's I, Moira," said Jim Horton gently.
"You—," she faltered.
"I said that I would come back, but I—I was detained," he said coolly.
If he had expected her to be surprised at his appearance out of uniform she gave no sign of it. She opened wide the door and stood aside.
"I—I know," she murmured.