He ventured to touch her hand in gentle sympathy.
"Mary," he said, and hesitated with a little wonder, remembering that this was the first time he had ever called her by that name—"Mary, did you care for him so much?"
She sat, mute, her face averted and hidden.
"I'd give everything if I could have mended matters. I was fond of Drummond—poor soul! If he'd only been frank with me from the start, all this could have been avoided. As soon as I knew—that night when I recognized you on the stage—I went at once to you to say I would clear out—not stand in the way of your happiness. I would have said as much to him, but he gave me no chance."
"Don't blame him," she said softly. "He wasn't responsible."
"I know."
"How long have you known?" She swung suddenly to face him.
"For some time—definitely, for two or three days. He tried twice to murder me. The first time he must have thought he'd done it.... Then he tried again, the night before you were carried off. Ember suspected, watched for him, and caught him. He took him away, meaning to put him in a sanitarium. I don't understand how he got away—from Ember. It worries me—on Ember's account. I hope nothing has happened to him."
"Oh, I hope not!"
"You knew—I mean about the cause—the morphine?"