“All?” said Roderick, raising his eyebrows. “Allow me to congratulate you on your knowledge, then. I have not seen her for nearly a year—since which she may doubtless have had an interesting history of which I am absolutely ignorant. The last time I saw her she was acting and singing in an Irish theatre, and I was one of the audience.” “And wrote her a merciless letter next morning,” said Hugh, confronting him and speaking in a low, stern voice. “You—under promise of marriage—oh, do not lose your temper, Captain Pym; you cannot frighten me! Under promise of marriage you persuaded this unhappy girl to leave her home and study, secretly, for the stage; you assisted her to make the appearance on the stage which separated her from her family forever—and then—you left her to her fate!” “I admire your romance—I mean, _the_ romance,” said Roderick, calmly, turning his back upon the bed. “I am sorry you should be so credulous, Mr. Paull; that is all I feel upon the subject. I will give you any information I can. Meanwhile, as I have never given the lie to a living woman, it is scarcely likely I shall do so to a dead one. Cannot we end our discussion in another room? Such talk is scarcely seemly here.” “I will come,” said Hugh, wrathfully. “But, once more, do not insult the dead, Captain Pym. Your—letters—to this—lady—are in my possession.” Roderick’s pallor assumed a greenish yellow. “After you, Mr. Paull,” he said, bowing slightly, and casting an ironical glance at the sweet young corpse. “I cannot blame you. Only I hope you may never be dragged into committing yourself out of foolish good nature, as I appear to have done.” And replacing his hat, he walked towards the door. “Good God—what a fiend!” thought Hugh, with a pitying glance towards the corpse. “Poor—unhappy—child!” He had often been deeply touched by the innocent trustfulness of young children about to undergo terrible operations that meant kill or cure; he had frequently been shamed for his own impatience by the cheerful resignation of the sick and dying poor. But he had never felt such chivalrous sympathy as that which made him stoop—before he reverently re-covered that solemn, smiling dead face—and gently touch one thin cold hand with his lips. Though he was neither kith nor kin to her—not even an acquaintance—her honour was safe with him, and he felt he would have staked his very life upon her truth. He motioned Roderick to follow him, took him into the little sitting-room, closed the door, and faced him with righteous indignation. “You are in my hands, Captain Pym, and at my mercy,” he said, harshly. “Only the truth can save you from exposure. It lies with Dr. Hildyard and myself whether there shall be an inquest or no; the cause of the patient’s death is sufficiently obscure to warrant legal investigation. As you know, every scrap of evidence must then be brought forward. Your letters will be produced. You will find yourself in an awkward position.”