"The doctor told you that the attack was hysterical," she said coldly; "I suppose I was hysterical and nervous yesterday."
"But the name, Aurora, the name. This James Conyers—who is he?" He felt the hand he held tighten convulsively upon his own, as he mentioned the trainer's name.
"Who is this man? Tell me, Aurora. For God's sake, tell me the truth."
She turned her face towards him once more, as he said this.
"If you only want the truth from me, John, you must ask me nothing. Remember what I said to you at the Château d'Arques. It was a secret that parted me from Talbot Bulstrode. You trusted me then, John,—you must trust me to the end; if you cannot trust me——" she stopped suddenly, and the tears welled slowly up to her large, mournful eyes, as she looked at her husband.
"What, dearest?"
"We must part; as Talbot and I parted."
"Part!" he cried; "my love, my love! Do you think there is anything upon this earth strong enough to part us, except death? Do you think that any combination of circumstances, however strange, however inexplicable, would ever cause me to doubt your honour; or to tremble for my own? Could I be here if I doubted you? could I sit by your side, asking you these questions, if I feared the issue? Nothing shall shake my confidence; nothing can. But have pity on me; think how bitter a grief it is to sit here, with your hand in mine, and to know that there is a secret between us. Aurora, tell me,—this man, this Conyers,—what is he, and who is he?"
"You know that as well as I do. A groom once; afterwards a jockey; and now a trainer."
"But you know him?"