“Of course I know,” said Adrian. “What you feared last night has come to pass—your father’s sufferings are over, he is dead. Peace to his soul, say I. Now it is your duty, Nancy, to take care of yourself and not to fret yourself into an illness. Remember I am here, and it is my privilege and blessing to feel that I have a right to comfort you.”
Nancy with some difficulty disengaged herself from her lover’s arms.
“I have something to tell you,” she said—her face was like a sheet. “Something happened last night after you left, and—Adrian—I am not free to marry you—I am not free to marry anyone! I am a doomed woman; a doom is on me and I cannot be your wife!”
She covered her face with her trembling hands; tears rained down her cheeks.
“I swear,” said Rowton, “that there is not a doom on this wide earth which shall part us. What is the matter, child? Tell me.”
“I cannot; it is a secret.”
“I swear that you shall, and now.” He tried to clasp her again in his arms, but she slipped from him.
“I can never tell you,” she said; “and while I hold this secret I must not be your wife!”