Eugene Mallard roused himself from the stupor which was stealing over him. He must face the terrible consequences of that rash marriage. Although this girl had wrecked his life, ruined his future, yet he could not find it in his heart to curse her.
He could not help but believe her—that it was some terrible mistake; he could not judge her before he knew more about what had prompted her to do this deed. He could not rest until he knew the reason that lay behind it.
"Tell me all about it," he said, hoarsely, turning to the girl, "that I may judge for myself of this action of yours."
"Yes, tell him," cried Miss Fernly, "that I may be cleared of my part in this transaction. You deceived me as well."
In a faltering voice that sounded as though she were dying, Ida May told her story, the man she had married listening intently.
He did not speak until she had concluded, but Miss Fernly saw that the girl's story was greatly affecting him.
"No wonder you mistook me for Royal Ainsley, when you saw that picture," he exclaimed, "for we are cousins. The resemblance between us was most marked when that picture was taken."
"I—I—thought the name Miss Fernly told me was an assumed name, or else you had given me a false one."
Miss Fernly's self-control seemed to leave her entirely as she listened.
"I am responsible for it!" she groaned, wringing her hands. "Oh, what will Hildegarde and my sister say!"