'Look here, old chap! I don't want to pry into your secrets; but, won't you let me help you? I can hold my tongue. I want to help you. You have earned that wish from any man, and woman too, who saw the burning ship and what you did to save those on board. There is nothing I would not do for you. Nothing! I don't ask you to tell me all; only enough for me to understand and help. I can see that you have some overpowering wish to get away. Some reason that I cannot fathom, certainly without a clue. You may trust me, I assure you. If you could look into my face, my eyes, you would understand. But--There! take my hand. It may tell you something!' Harold took the hand placed in his, and held it close. He pressed his other hand over it also, as though the effect of the two hands would bring him double knowledge. It was infinitely pathetic to see him trying to make his untrained fingers do the duty of his trained eyes. But, trained or not, his hands had their instinct. Laying down gently the hand he held he said, turning his bandaged eyes in the direction of his companion: 'I shall trust you! Are we alone; absolutely alone?' 'Absolutely!' 'Have I your solemn promise that anything I say shall never go beyond yourself?' 'I promise. I can swear, if it will make your mind more easy in the matter.' 'What do you hold most sacred in the world?' Harold had an odd thought; his question was its result. 'All told, I should think my profession! Perhaps it doesn't seem to you much to swear by; but it is all my world! But I have been brought up in honour, and you may trust my promise--as much as anything I could swear.' 'All right! My reason for wanting to get away was because I knew Lady de Lannoy!' 'What!' Then after a pause: 'I should have thought that was a reason for wanting to stay. She seems not only one of the most beautiful, but the sweetest woman I ever met.' 'She is all that! And a thousand times more!' 'Then why--Pardon me!' 'I cannot tell you all; but you must take it that my need to get away is imperative.' After pondering a while Mr. Hilton said suddenly: 'I must ask your pardon again. Are you sure there is no mistake. Lady de Lannoy is not married; has not been. She is Countess in her own right. It is quite a romance. She inherited from some old branch of more than three hundred years ago.' Again Harold smiled; he quite saw what the other meant. He answered gravely 'I understand. But it does not alter my opinion; my purpose. It is needful--absolutely and imperatively needful that I get away without her recognising me, or knowing who I am.' 'She does not know you now. She has not seen you yet.' 'That is why I hoped to get away in time; before she should recognise me. If I stay quiet and do all you wish, will you help me?' 'I will! And what then?'