It was a hazardous thing the telling that secret then, but Marian did not realize what she was doing, and in as calm a voice as she could command, she began:
“People call me Marian Grey, but that is not my name!”
“Not Marian Grey!” and the brown eyes flashed wonderingly. “Who are you, then, Marian what?”
Marian did not reply to this question, but said instead: “I had seen you before that night at Riverside.”
“Seen me where?” and the little fingers trembled with an indefinable dread of the shock which she instinctively felt was waiting for her.
“I had seen you many times,” said Marian, “and that is why my voice is familiar. Put your hand upon my face again, and maybe you will know it.”
“I can’t, I can’t! You frighten me so!” gasped Alice, and Marian continued:
“I must have changed much, for they who used to know me have never suspected that I am in their midst again—none but Bruno. Do you remember my power over him? Bruno and I were playmates together.”
Marian paused and gazed earnestly at the child, who lay panting in her arms, her face upturned and the blind eyes fixed upon hers with an intensity she had never before seen equalled. In the deep stillness of the room she could hear the loud beating of Alice’s heart, and see the bed-clothes rise and fall with every throb.
“Alice,” she said at last, “don’t you know me now?” and in her voice there was a world of yearning tenderness and love.