In a quarter of an hour, Irene went up to her aunt's room. Mrs. Hannaford was sitting in an easy chair, placed so that a pale ray of sunshine fell upon her. She rose, feebly, only to fall back again; her hands were held out in pitiful appeal, and tears moistened her cheeks. Beholding this sad picture, Irene forgot the doubt that offended her; she was all soft compassion. The suffering woman clung about her neck, hid her face against her bosom, sobbed and moaned.
They spoke together till dusk. The confession which Mrs. Hannaford made to her niece went further than that elicited from her either by Olga or Dr. Derwent. In broken sentences, in words of shamefaced incoherence, but easily understood, she revealed a passion which had been her torturing secret, and a temptation against which she had struggled year after year. The man was unworthy; she had long known it; she suffered only the more. She had been imprudent, once or twice all but reckless, never what is called guilty. Convinced of the truth of what she heard, Irene drew a long sigh, and became almost cheerful in her ardour of solace and encouragement. No one had ever seen the Irene who came forth under this stress of circumstance; no one had ever heard the voice with which she uttered her strong heart. The world? Who cared for the world? Let it clack and grin! They would defend the truth, and quietly wait the issue. No more weakness Brain and conscience must now play their part.
"But if it should go against me? If I am made free of that man——?"
"Then be free of him!" exclaimed the girl, her eyes flashing through tears. "Be glad!"
"No—no! I am afraid of myself——"
"We will help you. When you are well again, your mind will be stronger to resist. Not that—never that! You know it is impossible."
"I know. And there is one thing that would really make it so. I haven't told you—another thing I had to say—why I wanted so to see you."
Irene looked kindly into the agitated face.
"It's about Piers Otway. He came to see us here. I had formed a hope——"
"Olga?"