“Oh, believe me, no!” She rose quickly and faced him. “I have been through too much for that. But what I have been through only God—who has kept me safe—will ever know. I could not even begin to tell an outsider that.” The earnestness of her speech carried weight in spite of him. His face softened somewhat. “You are a strange woman, Miss Thorold,” he said. “But I am willing to believe that your motives are genuine though your methods do not always commend themselves to me. Sit down again, and kindly answer the few questions I shall put to you, which, you may as well be assured, are dictated neither by curiosity nor impertinence. I have been placed in a very peculiar position towards you, and I am doing what I conceive to be my duty.” That moved her also. Perhaps for the first time in her life, she looked at him with a certain respect. “I will answer your questions to the best of my ability, my lord,” she said. “Enough!” said the Bishop, and waved her back to her chair prior to reseating himself. “First then, when you left me, was it alone?” “Quite alone,” said Frances. “And you went—where?” “I went to a village on the moors called Brookside. It is a few miles from Fordestown. I found a lodging there.” “Ah! And my nephew knew your whereabouts?” “Certainly he did. He had offered to find me employment. I had practically promised to be his secretary in the event of his writing a book.” “You did not consider that in any sense an indiscreet thing to do?” questioned the Bishop. She felt herself colour slightly, but she answered him without hesitation. “Yes, I did. But beggars can’t be choosers. I tried to keep things on a business footing. I thought he was merely sorry for me. I did not realize—” she stopped abruptly. “That he was strongly attracted by you?” suggested the Bishop. “I did not think that I was sufficiently attractive for that to be possible,” she answered with simplicity. The flicker of a smile crossed his hard features. “You do not know human nature very well,” he observed. “But to continue! You went to Brookside. And then?” “He came to see me there,” Frances said. “And made love to you?” “Yes.” “Against your will?” asked the Bishop. She met his look with great directness. “No, it was not—at first—against my will. But I misunderstood him. And he misunderstood me. Afterwards—very soon afterwards—I found out my mistake. That is all I have to say upon that subject. It is over and done with now, and I do not wish to think of it again.” “I fear it has led to various complications,” said the Bishop, “which make it impossible to dismiss the matter in that fashion. However, we will pass on. May I ask you to give me the bald details of what followed?” She hesitated. That he was already in possession of most of the circumstances attending her sojourn at Tetherstones was a fact which she did not question, but she had a strong repugnance to discussing them with him.