Muriel held her breath, her eyes cast upon the ground. There was a mysteriousness in her manner, such as I had never before noticed. "You are right--quite right," she answered. "She was a woman of mystery." "Cannot you, now that I have made explanation and told you the reason of my apparent neglect, tell me what you know of her?" I asked earnestly. "I have no further knowledge," she assured me. "I know nothing of her personally." But her words did not convince me when I remembered how, on explaining my suspicions regarding Aline's complicity in the crime, she had betrayed an abject fear. "No," I said dubiously. "You are concealing something from me, Muriel." "Concealing something!" she echoed, with a strange, hollow laugh. "I'm certain I'm not." "Well," I exclaimed, rather impatiently, "to-day you have treated me, your oldest friend, very unfairly. You tell me that I merely consider you a convenient companion to be patronised when I have no other more congenial acquaintance at hand. That I deny. I may have neglected you," I went on in deep earnestness, as we halted for a moment beneath the great old trees, "but this neglect of late has been owing to the tragedy which has so filled my mind. I have set myself to trace out its author, and nothing shall deter me in my investigations." She was blanched to the lips. I noticed how the returning colour died from her face again at my words, but continuing, said-- "We have been friends. Those who know of our friendship would refuse to believe the truth if it were told to them, so eager is the world to ridicule the idea of a purely platonic friendship between man and woman. Yet ours has, until now, been a firm friendship, without a thought of love, without a single affectionate word." "That is the reason why I regret that it must now end," she answered, faltering, her voice half-choked with emotion. "End! What do you mean?" I cried, dismayed. "Ah, no!" she exclaimed, putting up both her hands, as if to shut me out from her gaze. "Don't let us discuss it further. It is sufficient that we can exchange no further confidences. It is best now that this friendship of ours should cease." "You are annoyed that I should have preferred the society of that strange, mysterious woman to yours," I said. "Well, I regret--I shall always regret that we met--for she has only brought me grief, anxiety, and despair. Cannot you forgive me?" "I have nothing to forgive," she answered blankly. "To have admired this woman was surely no offence against me?" "But it was," I declared, grasping her hand against her will. "Why?" I held my breath and looked straight into her dark, luminous eyes. Then, in as firm a voice as I could summon, I said-- "Because--because, Muriel, I love you?" "Love me!" she gasped, with a look of bewilderment. "No! No!"