Midway of his story Mlle. O'Hara bent her head and covered her face with her hands. She did not cry out or protest or speak at all. She made no more than that one movement, and after it she stood quite still, but the sight of her, bowed and shamed, stripped of pride, as it had been of garments, was more than the man could bear. He cried her name—
"Coira!" And when she did not look up, he called once more upon her. He said—
"Coira, I cannot bear to see you stand so! Look at me! Ah, child, look at me!
"Can you realise," he cried, "can you even begin to think what a great joy it is to me to know at last that you have had no part in all this? Can't you see what it means to me? I can think of nothing else. Coira, look up!"
She raised her white face and there were no tears upon it, but a still anguish too great to be told. It would seem never to have occurred to her to doubt the truth of his words. She said—
"It is I who might have known. Knowing what you have told me now it seems impossible that I could have believed.—And Captain Stewart—I always hated him—loathed him—distrusted him.
"And yet," she cried, wringing her hands, "how could I know? How could I know?"
The girl's face writhed suddenly with her grief and she stared up at Ste. Marie with terror in her eyes. She whispered—
"My father! Oh, Ste. Marie, my father! It is not possible. I will not believe—He cannot have done this, knowing. My father, Ste. Marie!"
The man turned his eyes away, and she gave a sobbing cry.