“Met! You? Edward? You have met, and—spoken?”
“I know him well. He is a close friend, almost a brother of the man whose child was ill, and whom I helped to nurse—another tenant in the flats. I think I mentioned him—a darling child. We thought he would die. We grew intimate, comforting one another, waiting day after day—”
“You mentioned me? He recognised the name?”
“No! I was Miss Harding. Evelyn and her life were things apart. I have never spoken of them to my neighbours. It was pure chance—pure Providence!”
“But he knows? You have told him. He knows I am here?”
“Not yet. You had to know first, and to hear—to read his defence; but he is to know to-night. His friend will tell him. It will break your heart, Charmion, for you have done him a wrong, and have wasted all these years; but it will fill you with joy as well, for at last you can believe—you must believe in his loyalty. It is there for you to see, in a letter to his friend, received just before you were married. Mr Thorold has kept it—he gave it to me, so that you might see it with your own eyes.”
But still she sat motionless, half paralysed, it would appear, by the suddenness, the unexpectedness of the revelation, making no effort to take the letters which I held out. I put them into her hand, speaking in slow, gentle tones:—
“Read, darling—read! There are two letters, for Mr Thorold has drafted out the substance of his own reply. He feels that much of the responsibility lies on his shoulder. It is such a joy to him—such a joy!—to feel that he has this chance to ‘make good’. It’s not a dream, darling—it’s true! The long, long nightmare is over; read your letters and—wake up!”
I pressed the envelope into her slack hands, kissed her cold cheek, and hurried from the room. She must be alone when she read those healing words; even the dearest friend would be an intruder at that moment!
My own heart was beating at express speed as I descended the stairs, and walked along the corridors which led to the drawing-room. I did not hurry, but rather intentionally lingered by the way. The great mirrors on the walls reflected a bright-eyed, eager girl, whom even at this engrossed moment it was a pleasure to recognise as myself. I am so tired of the reflection of old Miss Harding!