She put up her hands. "Do not, do not say it. Oh, I have never thought it possible that you could be so cruel as to say such a thing to me. Leave me in peace; for God's sake, leave me!" "Child! even if I could leave you, it is not right that you should go on nursing this terrible suspicion alone. In the back of your mind you believe this thing, and think that some time--any time, she may repeat the crime; and the terror of it is killing you." She was trembling violently, her face buried in her hands. "Have you allowed anyone else to know of this suspicion of yours? Tell me, have you talked it over with a single soul?" "No, no; oh, no," she moaned. "For pity's sake, stop speaking! I never thought anyone would dare to say this to me." "That is just what I supposed. You have nursed the idea in absolute secret. You have not even allowed your sister herself to know what you think." "I beg that you will say no more." "You are guarding this idea in heroic silence. You imprison it in darkness, and think it would be more terrible if you brought it out to the light. You are wrong. It will vanish away in the light. It is not true." She started, looking up at him with wide eyes in which the tears were arrested by surprise. The flush on her face faded. She grew pale to the lips with excitement. "How do you know?" she whispered hoarsely. "Tell me--do you know? How?" "I know just as I know that I did not do it--or you. You did not see her do this terrible thing." "Oh, you know nothing." She sank down again and rocked herself, moaning: "You know nothing, nothing. Why did you deceive me?" "Tell me, then--on what grounds have you formed this belief?" She grew more quiet, drooping before him as if in despair. "I must go to Hilyard to-morrow. I must know first what I can say. You must tell me why you, even for one hour, believed 'Dolphus to be innocent, before I go. I must judge for myself of what you tell me, but you must tell me all you know--or else you must tell Alden." At that she uncovered her face and sought to speak calmly. "I cannot tell Mr. Alden; I beseech you, spare me that. I thought I could tell him. Then, when he came--ah, I saw then what I never knew before--that he loves Hermie--that she loves him. There is a far deeper friendship between them than I knew. I was but a girl when they used to be together, and now---- It is so sad to see the feeling he has for her. She has grown so old, and so has he--so prematurely old. This sorrow has been so deep to them both. The night that he came here he reproached her for not letting him protect her more openly. He asked her to marry him now--even now; it seems he has asked her before. Surely it must be left to her to tell him if he must ever know, if she must ever endure the anguish of his knowing." Durgan could hardly believe his own sense of hearing, so calmly certain did she seem of the verity of her secret.