As they glanced toward the bed, to their amazement they saw the girl's eyes fastened upon old Adam with an expression of horror in them, heartrending to behold, and they realized that she had heard every word he had said. In an instant they were on their feet bending over the couch. "Is it true--they buried me--and--you--you--rescued me?" she asked, in a terrified whisper, catching at the old man's hands and clutching them in a grasp from which he could not draw them away, her teeth chattering, her violet eyes almost bulging from their sockets. "Since you have heard all, I might as well confess that it is quite true," he answered. "And God forgive that brute of a husband you just married. He ought to swing for the crime as sure as there is a heaven above us. There will be no end of the good minister's wrath when he hears the story, my poor girl." Again the beautiful young stranger caught at his hands. "He must never know!" she cried, incoherently. "Promise me, by all you hold dear, that both you and your wife will keep my secret--will never reveal one word of what has happened this night." "It is not right that we should keep silent upon such an amazing procedure. That would be letting escape the man who should be punished, if there is any law in the land to reach him for committing such a heinous crime." "I plead with you--I, who know best and am the one wronged, and most vitally interested, to utter no word that would cause the story to become blazoned all over the world. Let me make my words a prayer to you both--to keep my pitiful secret." It was beyond human power to look into those beautiful violet eyes, drowned in the most agonized tears, and the white, terrified, anxious face, without yielding to her prayer. "I do not know what good reason you may have for binding us to secrecy," he said, slowly and reluctantly, "but we cannot choose but to give you the promise--nay, the pledge--you plead for. I can answer for my Mary as well as myself--the story of to-night's happenings shall never pass our lips until you give us leave to speak." "Thank you! Oh, I thank you a thousand times!" sobbed the girl. "You have lifted a terrible load from my heart. If the time ever comes when I can repay you, rest assured it shall surely be done." She tried to rise from her couch, but the good wife held her back upon her pillow with a detaining hand, exclaiming: "What are you about to do, my dear child?" "Go away from here," sobbed the girl, again attempting to arise from the couch, but falling back upon the pillow from sheer weakness. She did not leave that couch for many a day. What she had undergone had been too much for her shattered nerves. Brain fever threatened the hapless girl, but was warded off by the faithful nursing of old Adam's faithful wife.