“A murderess of whom?”
“Don't ask,” cried Kathleen; “I should be a murderess of not one, but many. As it is I can at least be silent, and if needs be make the sacrifice.”
“What sacrifice?”
“What sacrifice? Ah, that I cannot tell you now, though I cannot hide it from you always. I fear that there is no hope. That you will have to know in time unless—unless——”
“Unless what?”
“Unless——” cried the girl, and her voice trailed away.
Westerham took her hands gently and with great deference.
“Unless,” he said softly, “you allow me to help you.”
She tore her hands away from his and almost screamed at him.
“Go! Go!” she cried.