She started and quivered almost as though I had struck her a blow, and her large, frightened eyes studied mine for a long second without answering. Then she said, simply, "No, my friend, I do not--love him." "Yet you have promised to marry him?" "Yes." "And you mean to carry out that promise?" "Yes, unless----" "Unless what?" "Something--happens to prevent me." "If you do not love him something _shall_ prevent. Let me help you. For heaven's sake, let me! Only give me an idea how it can best be done--I ask no more. I will teach you what such a--friendship as mine can have the power to do." I hoped to give her courage by the passion and force of my words, but, strangely enough, the bright eagerness died out of her face as I spoke. In some way I had missed saying the thing which might have comforted her. If I had only known--if I had only known! "You are very kind," she said, gently and sadly. "I am not looking forward to any great degree of happiness in my life, but I daresay, after all, I shall get on as well as most women. I don't think anything _will_ happen to prevent--what we were speaking of." "Why, is it to come so soon, then?" I questioned, impetuously. "In six weeks. It was all arranged to-day"--with a soft little sigh at the end of her sentence. "Tell me this: Are you in any way being forced into the marriage?" "Not by people--exactly. Only by _circumstances_. I--I can't tell you any more, though, believe me, I am grateful for all you mean, and all you would do for friendship's sake." There seemed a faint ring of stifled bitterness in the last three words, though wherefore it should come I knew not. If she had resented the warmth of my "friendship" after our brief acquaintance, what would she feel, I dimly wondered, should I forget myself, and be coward and fool enough to tell her of my mad love on the very day of her betrothal to another man? With all my strength I held my tongue under control, and heaven knows it was no easy victory, with those sweet eyes looking into mine! "Tell me what _could_ prevent it?" I persisted imploringly. "If you found that he was unworthy, would that----" She half smiled, though without any mirthfulness. "There are so many degrees of unworthiness, aren't there? And I am not near enough to perfection to believe myself a judge." "If _he had committed a crime_?" I went desperately on. And the words on my own lips made me start as though with a sudden revelation. I seemed to have assured myself of a fact which had actually taken place, rather than uttered a mere suggestion. The conviction grew within me that if Carson Wildred had not successfully altered his face and each characteristic of his personality, I should at once be able not only to remember, but to prove that my haunting half-recollection was intimately connected with some criminal deed done by him.