"It would not have been easy. It was not possible to answer that question."
"Why not?"
"Because I could not answer it without injuring some one I—esteem," replied Bothwell, relapsing into that curious, sullen manner which Mr. Heathcote had observed on the day of the inquest.
"O Bothwell, you have secrets, then—a secret from me, your adopted sister!"
"Yes, I have my secrets."
"I am so sorry. I used to hope that I should have a share in the planning of your life; and now I begin to fear——"
"That my life is wrecked already. You are right, Dora. My life was wrecked three years before I left India, but I did not know then what shipwreck meant. I thought that there was land ahead, and that I should make it; but I know now I was drifting towards a fatal rock upon which honour, happiness, and prosperity must needs go to pieces."
"Don't talk in riddles, Bothwell. Tell me the plain truth, however bad it may be. You know you can trust me."
"I do, dear soul, as I trust Heaven itself. But there are some things a man must not tell. Yes, Dora, I have my secret, and it is a hard one to carry—the secret of a man who is bound in honour to one woman while he fondly loves another."
"Bothwell, I am so sorry for you," said his cousin softly.