Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Voice in the Street.
At last she spoke.
But in those moments of reflection her determination had apparently become more fixed than ever.
Either she feared to confess lest she should imperil her father, or else she became seized with a sense of shame that would not allow her to condemn herself.
“No,” she said, in a firm voice, “I have already told you sufficient, Mr Leaf. My private affairs cannot in the least interest you.”
My heart sank within me, for I had hoped that she would reveal to me the truth. I was fighting in the dark an enemy whose true strength I could not gauge. The slightest ray of light would be of enormous advantage to me, yet she steadily withheld it, even though she lived in hourly danger, knowing not when, by force of circumstances, she might be driven to the last desperate step.
She was a woman of strong character, to say the least, although so sweet, graceful and altogether charming.
I was disappointed at her blank refusal, and she saw it.
“If it would assist you to extricate Ella, I would tell you,” she assured me quickly. “But it would not.”