“Then you were there all the time?” Jack cried interrogatively. “And you heard our conversation—our whole conversation?”
“I was there all the time, Jack,” I cried, in a fever of exaltation: “and I heard every word of it! It comes back to me now with a vividness like yesterday. I see the room before my eyes. I remember every syllable: I could repeat every sentence of it.”
Jack drew a deep sigh of intense relief.
“Thank God for that!” he exclaimed, with profound gratitude. “Then I’m saved, and you’re saved. We can both understand one another in that case. We know how it all happened!”
“Perfectly,” I answered. “I know all now. As I sat there and cowered, I heard a knock at the door, and before papa could answer, you entered hastily. Papa looked round, I could hear, and saw who it was in a second.
“‘Oh, it’s you!’ he said, coldly. ‘It’s you, Dr. Ivor. And pray, sir, what do you want here this evening?’”
“Go on!” Jack cried, intensely relieved, I could feel. “Let me see how much more you can remember, Una.”
“So you shut the door softly and said:
“‘Yes, it’s I, Mr. Callingham,’” I continued all aglow, and looking into his eyes for confirmation. “‘And I’ve come to tell you a fact that may surprise you. Prepare for strange news. Richard Wharton has returned to England!’
“I knew Richard Wharton was mamma’s first husband, who was dead before I was born, as I’d always been told: and I sat there aghast at the news: it was so sudden, so crushing. I’d heard he’d been wrecked, and I thought he’d come to life again; but as yet I didn’t suspect what was all the real meaning of it.