She made no remark, and he went on: "It was mainly through me he escaped," he said. "When I was released I searched out his brother and made a suggestion. Mr. Woodridge has no idea I was in prison; he thought I had been abroad for several years. Needless to say, I did not enlighten him; I will trust you not to do so." "I shall never speak of it." "Does this alter your opinion of me? Shall I go on?" he asked. "I love you," she said. "I shall always love you, no matter what happens." "As you know, Hector Woodridge escaped." "But he is dead." "That is uncertain. He may be, or he may have got away and be in hiding. He must be greatly changed, no one would recognize him," he said. "It is hardly possible," she said. "Perhaps not, but still he may be alive, and if he is, the woman who ruined him had better beware. I believe he would kill her if he met her. What have you to confess to me? You see I have placed my character in your hands; you can ruin me socially if you wish." "I do not wish, and I thank you for the trust you have placed in me," she said. "I am afraid to confess all to you, afraid you will never speak to me again when you know who I am." "Who you are?" he exclaimed. "I told you, when you remarked on the curious coincidence that my name was Mrs. Elroy, that I was not the Mrs. Elroy connected with Hector Woodridge's case." "Well," he said. "I told you a lie. I am the same Mrs. Elroy. It was my husband Hector Woodridge shot. It was me he was in love with." He looked at her without speaking for several minutes. The silence was painful; he was thinking how to launch his thunderbolt, how best to trap and overwhelm her. There was no escape, she was entirely at his mercy. "You ruined Hector Woodridge, sent him to penal servitude for life," he said. "I was not entirely to blame. We loved, or at least we thought so." "How did it happen?" he asked. "The shooting?" "Yes." "It was quite unpremeditated; had the revolver not been there it would never have happened. I believe my husband intended to shoot him, and me--it was his revolver." Hector wondered if this were true. "The revolver was on a small table. I saw it but did not remove it; had I done so the tragedy would not have happened." "Why did you leave it there?" he asked. "I do not know; probably because I did not wish my husband to know I was afraid. I was aware he had found us out, that an exposure must come sooner or later. He was madly in love with me; I almost hated him, he was so weak, almost childish, and I wanted a strong man to rule me. Shall I go on, do you despise me, look upon me as a very wicked woman?" she asked in a strained voice. "Go on," he said; "tell me the whole story, how he was shot, everything."