She tried to face Lolita, the woman whom she had hounded to her death, but her gaze wavered, and I saw that her effort to regain her self-composure was an utterly vain one. She trembled visibly from head to foot, while the expression in her eyes was sufficient to show the terror now consuming her.
The Earl noticing the change in her, and how she shrank from us, looked from Keene to the stranger, and asked—
“Well, sir? I have not the pleasure of knowing you. Who are you?”
“My name is Alfred Logan, architect by profession and—well, adventurer by inclination,” he replied. “I presume from your words that your wife has denounced your sister, Lady Lolita, as the murderess of young Hugh Wingfield in your park, and has also laid certain other charges against that lady? Fortunately, however, I am in a position to reveal to you the other side of the question, and reveal facts which I believe you will find both startling and remarkable.”
“Tell me?” exclaimed George hoarsely. “I suppose you intend to retaliate by making charges against my wife—eh?”
“Yes!” cried the unhappy woman, clinging to her husband. “That man is my worst enemy, George—save me from him—save me if you love me!”
“Your husband has no power to save you, madam,” exclaimed Logan in a cold distinct voice, while we all stood rooted to the spot. “It is my duty, knowing the truth as I do, to tell it, and to leave your husband to form his own conclusions. To-night, knowing that Lady Lolita, driven to desperation by you, had threatened to commit suicide, rather than a scandal should rest upon her noble house, you have written to her, telling her of your intention of making these charges, with the sole object of causing her death by her own hand, and thus placing yourself in a position of safety. Heaven, however, is just, and I am here to reveal those things that you have hidden from your husband—to tell the world what I know regarding your past.”
“Ah! no!” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “No! Enough! Spare me!”
“You have not spared Lady Lolita, therefore you must hear the hard and bitter truth.” Then, disregarding the terrible effect his words had upon her, he faced the Earl, and said, “What I am about to say will be borne out partially by our friend here, Mr Richard Keene—whom you know by the name of Smeeton—partly by Mr Woodhouse, and partly by your sister herself.”
“Go on,” said the Earl in a low voice. “I am all attention.”