“She's gone, nobody knows where. I hope to heaven she will never come back,” the old man replied.
“And it was she who saved Dr. Fenneben's life? Does he know who she is?”
“No, no. She's never let him know, and if she does n't want him to know, whose business is it to tell him?” Saxon urged. “I have hung about and protected her when she never knew I was near. But when I'm drunk, I'm an idiot and my mind is bent against her. I'd die to save her, and yet I may kill her some day when I don't know it.” Bond Saxon's head was drooping pitifully low.
“But why live in such slavery? Why not tell all you know about this man and let the law protect a helpless woman?” Burgess urged.
Old Bond Saxon looked up and uttered only one word—“Dennie!”
Vincent Burgess turned away a moment. Dennie! Yes, there was Dennie.
“This woman had a husband, you say?” he asked presently.
Bond Saxon stared straight at him and slowly nodded his head.
“What became of him? Do you know?” Vincent questioned.
Saxon leaned forward, and, clutching Vincent Burgess by the arm, whispered hoarsely, “He's dead. I killed him. But I was drunk when I did it. And this man knows it and holds me bound.”