But Dunvegan, more susceptible, stopped at her word, his hungry eyes dwelling on her beauty, which even after the wearing night appeared faultless.
"Who were those messengers at the gates?" she inquired.
"Men of Black Ferguson's with a drafting order for Brondel's factor."
"Ah!" she gasped, "to—to——"
"To La Roche," Bruce supplied. "You see I was right. I came just in time."
With an impulsive, winning gesture Desirée put her hands in Dunvegan's.
"I ought to be thankful," she began, brokenly. "And I am! Heaven knows I am! But I should also be frank. After greeting you as I did in my room I must explain."
"Not unless you wish, unless——"
"It is my wish, my will," she interrupted.
"I need relief; I must give someone my confidence. Otherwise I shall go mad!"