"I shall not sit down beside you, Dora. I shall remain here at your feet. Ah, Heaven! to think of that cruel bar which prevents our marriage! You should know all, but I have not the courage to tell you." "Keep silent on that point," said Dora soothingly. "What I want to know now is the story of that night. You returned from London on the second, did you not?" "Yes," he replied in a tired voice. "In that conversation I had with Edermont he made certain statements which I could not believe. He said I could verify them in London, and told me how and where I could do so. I could not rest until I knew the truth, therefore I caught the express at Selling and went to town. Alas, alas! I found that he had spoken only too truly, and that you could never be my wife." Repressing the curiosity which devoured her to learn the terrible secret of which he spoke, Dora smoothed his hair gently, and asked him to relate what had taken place on his return from this mysterious errand. He obeyed her like a child. "When I came home," he said with thoughtful deliberation, "I found that letter I showed you awaiting me. Edermont asked me to see him in his study at midnight on the second of the month. But how he knew that I should return on that day I cannot guess." "I can explain," said Dora quietly. "You wrote and told me when you would return, and I showed the letter to my guardian." "Why did you do that, Dora--especially when you knew about our quarrel?" "I wished to point out to Mr. Edermont that you had gone to London," replied Dora, "and, if possible, induce him to explain your reason for going there." "Ah, he knew my reason well enough," said Allen with a frown; "but I suppose he refused to tell you what it was?" "Naturally. He refused to tell me anything. But now you know how Mr. Edermont learnt the date of your return, and appointed that midnight meeting for the date. Go on, Allen." "I was pleased to get his invitation," continued Allen, picking up the thread of his story, "as I fancied he might confess something further, likely to ameliorate the distressing situation in which I was placed by his previous revelation. I determined, therefore, to obey the summons, but as it yet wanted three hours till midnight the thought of the delay worked me into a fever of anxiety. The hopes, the fears, the vague terrors which beset me drove me nearly wild. I declare, Dora, that I was like a madman. A hundred ideas came into my head as to how I might do away with the effect of Edermont's secret and regain you. But one and all were dismissed, and I felt more helpless than ever. Only one man could put matters right, and that was the man who put them wrong; so there was nothing left for it but to wait until I saw him at midnight." "Had you any idea that a third person might be present at your meeting?"