"Then your mother and Mrs. Moore corresponded?" Dr. Fergusson asked.
"No, not quite that. My father was terribly angry at Helen's marriage, as he was afterwards about mine. But Helen wrote to my mother when her baby was born, and it was then that the pendant was copied and sent. No one but I knew that my mother had had it done; my father was a very stern man. He would have been terribly angry with my mother if he had known of this, and she told no one but me. Arthur never knew."
"The whole thing seems to be growing clearer and clearer," Fergusson said slowly, "and you will be able to make it plain to Sir Arthur."
A shiver ran through Margaret's frame.
"It means—that I must see—Arthur," she said; and for the first time since she had begun speaking, her voice shook. "I must see him, and tell him all the story of the pendant—all—the real necessity for hiding is over," she added under her breath; "it is only cowardice to avoid Arthur now."
"There is one thing that puzzles me,"; the doctor left his post at the foot of the bed, and, coming to his patient's side, laid a finger on her wrist. "I do not want you to worry yourself now, with any more thoughts and questionings. Only answer me this one thing. If you knew your sister's married name, why did you never connect Miss Moore with her?"
"I did not know her real name," was the reply; "she married a singer. She met him in town. I was a young girl at home in the country, and I never saw him. In the singing world he was known as Signor Donaldo; and we only knew of him by that name."
"My father's name was Donald," Christina exclaimed. "And I knew that once he had sung, but before I can remember anything he had lost his voice; he played the organ in the village church, and he taught music, too, and singing as well. But he was never called anything but Moore. I never knew him by any other name. Mother has often told me he could not bear to remember the time when he had a beautiful voice; and I think he must have dropped his singing name, when he lost his voice."
"And he and Helen—were happy?" The words seemed to break involuntarily from Margaret's lips.
"I think father and mother never stopped being lovers," Christina answered simply. "They were just the whole world to one another, just the whole whole world."