"I neither despise nor fear him, Marion. When in the press of time he calls for me, I shall bow to the inevitable with what dignity I can." "I think you are a brave man, Agar," she replied. "You must be indeed, yet it is a thing that puzzles me." "Why?" I questioned with a smile. "Because a brave man should be honest too, and you are not." "You are remembering the deceit I practised on Sir William Dagmar?" "Yes; and other happenings." "What else?" "I am remembering the night my lover died!" She bent a little forward as she spoke, and her eyes burned into mine. I caught my breath, and I felt my hand gripped as with a hand. "You bore me from the room of death," she proceeded in a tense passionate whisper, "and you laid me down upon my bed, and then you kissed my brow. I did not know you at the time, for you were very cunningly disguised--but now I know." It never occurred to me to deny, or even to demand the origin of her discovery. Indeed, incredible as it may appear, I experienced some sort of delight to learn that she was thoroughly acquainted with my villainy. Quick as a flash I said to myself: "She knows, and yet she has not turned from me. It must be that she loves!" "I believed that you were utterly insensible," I gasped. She sighed and leaned back in her seat. A long silence fell between us. My thoughts were in a tangled whirl. I could not grasp the skein of them, and I seemed to be plucking helplessly after a dozen elusive phantom-like ideas. At last I heard her say: "It was for me he died, Agar!" She was alluding to the dead man, George Cavanagh, and her tones were full of bitterness. I waited with my eyes upon her averted face. "He died in vain," she went on presently. "Ah, but doubtless you already know." "Nothing!" I muttered. "Nothing." "He was ruined," she said sadly, "and he wished his death to profit me--with money. Money! As if money could atone!" "Then he was dishonest too, as well as I," I muttered, trying hard to smoothe all triumph from my tones. She uttered a low moan of pain, and wrung her hands together. "No, no," she wailed. "He wished to be perhaps, but I gave the money back to them." "I am glad of that," I cried. She threw at me a look of fiery scorn. "You!" she hissed; "you! Get to your work and row." In mournful humility I immediately obeyed, and we glided on our way again. For a long while I dared not look at her, and when I dared I could not see for the dark. But I knew that she was weeping, and though I longed to comfort her, I set my teeth and kept resolutely to my work, rowing hard in an effort to forget. It was she who interrupted me. I saw her white figure start suddenly erect. "Stop!" she cried; "we have passed the place. Go back!"