“Who told you that?” she gasped, in a low voice.
“I knew it long ago,” I replied.
“Nora has betrayed my secret,” she observed in a hard voice.
“No,” I declared; “your cousin has told me nothing. I have known the fact for months past.”
“For months past! How?”
“You are not frank with me,” I replied; “therefore I may be at liberty to preserve what secrets I think best.”
“I—I do not deny it,” she faltered. Then, in a voice trembling with emotion, she added, “Ah, Doctor Colkirk, if you knew all that I have suffered you would quite understand my fear lest any one should discover my secret. I often wonder how it is that I have not taken my own life long, long ago.”
“No,” I said in deep sympathy, taking her hand. “Bear up against all these troubles. Let me assist you as your friend.”
“But you cannot,” she declared despairingly, tears welling in her eyes. “You can only assist me by keeping my secret. Will you promise me to do that?”
“Most certainly,” I replied. “But I want to do more. I want to penetrate the veil of mystery which seems to surround your marriage. I want—”