As we sat there in the starlight I listened to Ella’s account of her free, open-air life in County Galway, for Wichenford was still let to the wealthy American; and her father, she said, preferred Ireland as a place of residence when he could not live on his own estate.
“But you never wrote to us,” Miller remarked. “Often we have spoken of you, and regretted that you were no longer with us. Indeed, your portrait is still yonder in the drawing-room. Only the day before yesterday Mr Leaf noticed it, and inquired whether I knew you.”
My love’s eyes met mine in a long wistful look.
“I believed that you were always abroad,” she answered him. “And—well, to tell the truth, I had an idea that you had altogether forgotten me.”
“Forgotten you, dear?” cried Lucie. “We have never forgotten you. How could I ever forget my dearest friend—and more especially when I knew what a terrible self-sacrifice you had made?”
“What’s that?” inquired Miller, quickly interested.
“Shall I tell him?” asked Lucie, turning to me.
“If you wish. It is only right, I think, that Mr Miller should know the truth.”
Therefore, receiving Ella’s consent as well, Lucie explained to her father how I had been her friend’s secret lover, and how she had broken off our affection by force of circumstance, sacrificing herself in order to save her father from ruin.
He listened to his daughter in surprise, then sighing heavily, turned to Ella, saying sympathetically:—