"Everard, have you—have you seen that man?"
His heart contracted with a sudden sharp pang, but he strove to restrain himself and be calm.
"Parmalee? Yes, Harrie; I left him not an hour ago."
"And he—Everard—for God's sake—"
"He told me nothing, Harrie. You and he keep your secrets well. He told me nothing, and he is gone. He will never come back here more."
He looked at her keenly, suspiciously, as he said it. Alas! the intermittent fever was taking its hot fit again. But she dropped her face on his shoulder and hid it.
"Has he left the village, Everard?" very faintly.
"I can not say. I only know I have forbidden him this place," he replied. "Harrie, Harrie, my little wife! You are very merciless! You are torturing me, and I—I would die to save you an instant's pain!"
At that eloquent cry she slipped out of his arms and fell on her knees before him, her clasped hands hiding her face.
"May God grant me a short life!" was her frenzied cry, "for I never can tell you—never, Everard, not on my dying bed—the secret I have sworn to keep!"