I should like to tell you all or
nothing. At present I cannot tell you all."
"Very well," he replied, "I am quite content to leave it with you
to do as you think best."
"Leonard," she continued, "of course you think me unreasonable.
I can't help it. There are things between my sister and myself
the knowledge of which is a constant nightmare to me. During the
last few months of my life it has grown to be a perfect terror.
It sent me into hiding at Blenheim House, it reconciled me even
to the decision I came to that night on the Embankment. I had
decided that sooner than go back, sooner than ask help from her
or any one connected with her, I would do what I tried to do the
time when you saved my life."
Tavernake looked at her wonderingly. She was, indeed, under the
spell of some deep emotion. Her memory seemed to have carried
her back into another world, somewhere far away from this dingy
little sitting-room which they two were sharing together, back
into a world where life and death were matters of small moment,
where the great passions were unchained, and men and women moved
among the naked things of life. Almost he felt the thrill of it.
It was something new to him, the touch of a magic finger upon his
eyelids. Then the moment passed and he was himself again,
matter-of-fact, prosaic.
"Let us dismiss the subject finally," he said. "I must see your
sister on business to-morrow, but it shall be for the last time."
"I think," she murmured, "that you will be wise.
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