He told her the story as his mother had told it to him. Then at last he said:
"And now you know Barode Barouche got what he deserved. He ruined my mother's life; he died the easiest death such a man could die. He has also spoiled my life."
"Nothing can spoil your life except yourself," she declared firmly, and she laid a hand upon his arm. "Who told you all this—and when?"
"My mother in a letter last night. I had a talk with her afterwards."
"Who else knows?" "Only you."
"And why did you tell me?"
"Because I want you to know why our ways must for ever lie apart."
"I don't grasp what you mean," she declared in a low voice.
"You don't grasp why, loving you, I didn't ask you to marry me long ago; but you found out for yourself from the one who was responsible, and freed me and saved me; and now you know I am an illegitimate son."
"And you want to cut me out of your life for a bad man's crime, not your own. . . . Listen, Carnac. Last night I told Mr. Tarboe I could not marry him. He is rich, he has control of a great business, he is a man of mark. Why do you suppose I did it, and for over two years have done the same?—for he has wanted me all that time. Does not a girl know when a real man wants her? And Luke Tarboe is a real man. He knows what he wants, and he goes for it, and little could stop him as he travels. Why do you suppose I did it?" Her face flushed, anger lit her eyes. "Because there was another man; but I've only just discovered he's a sham, with no real love for me. It makes me sorry I ever knew him."