Me-en-gan was already holding open the door. "You come," he smiled, beseechingly.
But the Factor's suspicions were aroused.
"There is something in this," he decided. "I think you may stay,
Virginia."
"You are right," broke in the young man, desperately. "There is something in it. Miss Albret knows who gave me the rifle, and she was about to inform you of his identity. There is no need in subjecting her to that distasteful ordeal. I am now ready to confess to you. I beg you will ask her to leave the room."
Galen Albret, in the midst of these warring intentions, had sunk into his customary impassive calm. The light had died from his eyes, the expression from his face, the energy from his body. He sat, an inert mass, void of initiative, his intelligence open to what might be brought to his notice.
"Virginia, this is true?" his heavy, dead voice rumbled through his beard. "You know who aided this man?"
Ned. Trent mutely appealed to her: her glance answered his.
"Yes, father," she replied.
"Who?"
"I did."