She shook her head and tried to speak, but her voice was gone. Finally she whispered:-- "Francis, you must tell me all about it,--everything!" He frowned and said nothing, until she repeated, "Everything, you must tell me!" and then he replied:-- "See here, Nell, you'd better drop this thing and not think of it again. That man Pemberton, who has pestered the life out of me all along, has made a row. He's an ill-tempered beast. That's all. And he'll repent it, too! He can't do anything to me. It's a business quarrel, and I don't want you to worry over it." He was cool and assured, and spoke with the kindly authority of a husband. "No, Francis!" She shook her head wearily. "That can't be all. I must know what it is--I must help you." "You can't help me," he replied calmly. "I have told you enough. They can't do anything. I don't want to go any further into that business." "I must know!" she cried. He was startled at the new force in her voice, the sign of a will erecting itself with its own authority against him. "Know what? What that fool Pemberton thinks of me? You heard enough of that, I guess." "Don't put me off! Don't put me away from you, now, Francis! If we are to love each other, if we are to live together, I must know you, all of you. I am in a fog. There is something wrong all about me, and it gets between us and kills our love. I cannot--bear--it!" Her voice broke into pleading, and ended in a sob. But controlling herself quickly, she added:-- "Mr. Pemberton is a fair man, a just man. But if he's wrong, I want to know that, too. I want to hate him for what he said to you." "You would like to judge me, to judge your husband!" he retorted coldly. "That is not the way to love. I thought you would believe in me, all through to the end." "So I shall--if you will tell me all the truth. I would go with you anywhere, to prison if need be, if you would be open with me." "We needn't talk of going to prison yet awhile!" he exclaimed in exasperation. He went to the sideboard, and pouring himself a glass of whiskey, set the decanter on the table. "They can't do anything but talk," he repeated. Then, warmed by the liquor, he began to be more insolent, to speak defiantly. "Pemberton's been after me from the start. He wanted Wright to get the work in the first place, and he's tried to put every obstacle he could in my way. It was first one thing and then another. He has made life unendurable with his prying and his suspicions. But I won't stand it another day. I'm going to Everett to-morrow and tell him that I shall get out if Pemberton is to interfere with my orders. And they can't lay a finger on me, I tell you! Pemberton can just talk!" Helen had put her head between her hands, and she was sobbing. Every hot word that he spoke drove conviction against him into her heart. At last she raised her tear-stained face and cried out with a new access of power:-- "Stop! Stop!"