"No, no, it will not. If you have done anything wrong, I shall be sure it was not your fault—"
"No, you misunderstand me; it is nothing I have done," he interrupted.
"Then what is this secret, brother?"
"I am not your brother."
Irene had promised that his secret should not shock her, yet had a bombshell burst at her feet, she could not have been more astonished.
She sprang from the low stool, and stood with clasped hands, the color fading from her face, her slight form swaying as though she had received a blow.
Abner, alarmed, sprang from his chair, and caught her in his arms.
"Irene, Irene, don't take it so," he said, bending tenderly over the white face.
"Not my brother? Why you must be mad!" she gasped.