"And why, sir, has it taken you so long to tell it?" she asked, after a pause.
"I would not admit it, even to myself, until the time for separation drove me to it."—He slipped his arm around her, and drew her to him. "Martha!—sweetheart!—come home with me?" he whispered.
A moment she yielded, then abruptly released herself. May be he loved her, and she loved him as well as she could any man, but that was neither here nor there. If he were a De Lysle—she would marry him; love was not essential. But was he a De Lysle?
"You must realize," she said, "that whether I love or whether I do not, I can not marry you without further proof of your real identity."
"Sir Charles Brandon will vouch for me," he answered.
"You forget, that it was you vouched for him."
"True—but he has documents which will prove him Sir Charles Brandon."
"And you had the best sort of documents to prove you Sir Edward Parkington."
"I do not know what to say. Take me on faith, sweetheart."