“Mr. Carter,” she said slowly, “I have heard many good things said of you. Are you sufficiently positive of all that you have said to swear to me that you know it to be true—all of it?” “Yes, madam.” “Nan,” Mrs. Remsen turned to her as she spoke, “will you explain now how it happened that you were outside the house, and returned here just when you did?” “Yes,” replied Nan. “I will explain. I hope you will believe me.” “I see no reason why I should not do so.” Nan hesitated for a moment. Then she turned so that she faced the assembled company. “It is necessary that I explain to all of you,” she said falteringly. “For a little while I have hoped that the necessity for it might be escaped; but now I see that it is essential.” “No, no, Nan, it is not essential. It need not be,” said Nick Carter. “Yes it is,” she replied. “Let me have my way about it.” “Very well. Proceed.” Again Nan hesitated. Then, before she spoke, she half turned about and opened her arms toward Lenore. When Lenore hesitated, she said: “Come here, dear. I want you near me when I speak, for you, above all others, must believe what I will tell you now. Come, dear.” Slowly Lenore moved forward. She seemed to sense the truth of what was coming, and a dark scowl crossed the face of Jimmy Duryea. Had it not been for the gag in his mouth, he doubtless would have interrupted them, then; but he could not speak, and nobody offered to relieve him of the impediment to speech. “You must hear all of the truth, now, all of you,” said Nan, then, with one arm tightly around the quivering form of Lenore Remsen; “and in order to explain the circumstance that Mrs. Remsen had asked about, it is necessary that I should tell other things, first. “That man there”—she pointed an accusing finger at Jimmy—“told a great deal that was true, when he talked to you a little while ago, accusing me; but he did not tell all the truth about one part of it, and he told much less than the truth about another part of it. “He is not an American. He never had any right whatever to the name of Dinwiddie, and how he possessed himself of it I do not know. He is an Englishman. His real name is James Howard Drummond. He is the younger son of a titled family in England. I knew him when I was a girl. I have known him all my life. As a girl I fell in love with him. As a girl and woman I still loved him, and finally I became his wife. “Hush, Lenore. I am not his wife now. I secured a divorce from him when he was sent to prison eight years and more ago. Later, I married again. But I was his wife, and I am the Nan Drummond he referred to—his wife, then, when I bore that name. “It was this way: My family became impoverished. I sought a position as governess, and went to South Africa with the family of an army officer. Later, Howard Drummond came there, also sent out by his family matters, as he informed me. My old love for him revived, and we were married.