“I fear no consequence as the result of what I will tell you,” she said quietly, “but Melun declares that you are merely an American confederate.”
“Good Heavens!” cried Westerham, and so great was the sincerity of his tones that Lady Kathleen's face softened.
“But perhaps you are not. I wish I knew.”
She buried her face in her hands and rocked to and fro in her distress.
“If I tell you who I am,” cried Westerham, stung to desperation, “am I not right in thinking that you would tell your father?”
Kathleen nodded her assent.
“And then we should be worse off than ever,” he rejoined gloomily. “Far from being regarded as a friend, I should be regarded as an interloper, possibly a danger, because I knew of your father's difficulty. Yet what the nature of that trouble is I have not the least idea. Why not tell me?”
The girl leapt to her feet and looked at him with wild eyes. “If you do know,” she cried, “you are as great a fiend as Melun to persecute me in this way, and if you do not know—then Heaven forbid that you ever should.
“I cannot tell you because if I did I should be a murderess.”
“A murderess!” Westerham drew a step back in horror.