The Confession

"I fear I do not altogether understand," he returned gravely. "They
merely said that you were here with a message of warning for me. I
knew that much only a moment ago. I cannot even guess the purport of
your message, yet I thank you for a very real sacrifice for my sake."

"Oh, no; truly it was nothing," the excitement bewildering her. "It
was no more than I would have done for any friend; no one could have
done less."

"You, at least, confess friendship?"

"Have I ever denied it?" almost indignantly, and looking directly at
him for the first time. "Whatever else I may seem, I can certainly
claim loyalty to those who trust me. I wear no mask off the stage."

Even as she spoke the hasty words she seemed to realize their full
import, to read his doubt of their truth revealed within his eyes.

"Then," he said slowly, weighing each word as though life depended on
the proper choice, "there is nothing being concealed from me? Nothing
between you and this Farnham beyond what I already know?"

She stood clinging to the door, with colorless cheeks, and parted lips,
her form quivering. This was when she had intended to speak in all
bravery, to pour forth the whole miserable story, trusting to this man
for mercy. But, O God, she could not; the words choked in her throat,
the very breath seemed to strangle her.

"That--that is something different," she managed to gasp desperately.
"It--it belongs to the past; it cannot be helped now."