"Hush, hush, Bernardine! You must not say that!" he cried, seizing her little hands.
He drew her into the plain little sitting-room, seated her, then turned from her abruptly and commenced pacing up and down the room, his features working convulsively.
It was by the greatest effort he had restrained himself from clasping her in his arms. Only Heaven knew how great was the effort.
"Why did you attempt to drown yourself, Bernardine?" he asked, at length. "Tell me the truth."
"Yes, I will tell you," sobbed Bernardine, piteously. "I did it because I did not wish to become Jasper Wilde's bride."
"But why were you driven to such a step?" he persisted. "Surely you could have said 'No,' and that would have been sufficient."
For a moment she hesitated, then she flung herself, sobbing piteously, on her knees at his feet.
"If I tell you all, will you pledge yourself to keep my secret, and my father's secret, come what may?" she cried, wringing her hands.
"Yes," he replied, solemnly. "I shall never divulge what you tell me. You can speak freely, Bernardine."
And Bernardine did speak freely. She told him all without reserve—of the sword Jasper Wilde held over her head because of her poor father, whom he could send to the gallows, although he was an innocent man, if she refused to marry him.