"And," he said, pointing to himself, "if we alter the text slightly, we find 'This traitor was the cause.' Is not that what you mean, Marion? Do not spare me; I am meet for vengeance."
"The present one is not a case for vengeance. But if you like you may in this matter expiate the past."
"And when my expiation is complete, in what relation shall you and I stand to one another?"
"In the same relation as before we met. You will be just to me, and help me in this matter, Thomas Blake. Remember that my life has not been very joyous."
"But, Marion," he urged, softening his voice, and leaning towards her, "if I am to take what you say at its full value----"
"I mean it all quite literally."
"Then my expiation would assume the form of leading you to the tomb instead of the altar."
She drew back, and said:
"Yes, put it that way if you will. At one time I believed your hand was guiding me up to the altar, beyond which lay love and life, and all manner of good and bright things. We never reached the altar. But something happened, and there was a dull, dead pause in life, like the winter sleep of a lizard or the trance of the Sleeping Beauty, and then I awoke, and, to my horror, found the altar had been changed into a tomb, and the Fairy Prince into Death. There was no time for love. I had slept through the period of love. I had no power to hate, but I had the power and the will to die. You will help me?"
"Not to die, Marion. I will help you to solve the mystery of this Fahey, and the relations between him and Mr. Davenport, and then when all has been cleared up, you may----"