She pushed a chair forward, and sat down herself. The tears were in her eyes, but she brushed them away unconsciously.
"If papa had told me!" she said, in a low voice--"if he had only told me--before he died."
"It was out of love," said Marsham; "but yes--it would have been wiser--kinder--to have spoken."
She started.
"Oh no--not that. But we might have sorrowed--together. And he was always alone--he bore it all alone--even when he was dying."
"But you, dearest, shall not bear it alone!" cried Marsham, finding her hand again and kissing it. "My first task shall be to comfort you--to make you forget."
He thought she winced at the word "forget."
"When did you first guess--or know?"
He hesitated--then thought it best to tell the truth.
"When we were in the lime-walk."