“I found out this address from Geoffrey,” he went on, “without telling him I meant to come to you. And then I set out at once, not saying a word to anybody, and I caught the first train I could and came straight here. And now you have to put me up, for I don’t mean to leave you again. You dear little goose, you can’t keep out of mischief without me!” But though he spoke as lightly as possible, and tried in every way to soothe and calm her, she saw by the frown on his face, by his uneasy glances at the door, that all the while he was no more at ease than she was. And Audrey clasped his hand tightly in hers and whispered:-- “Did you ever have any doubts about him, about Mr. Candover, Gerard?” “Yes,” answered he in the same tone. “Often. When I was alone--such awful loneliness, Audrey, I can’t talk about it yet!--I used to wonder whether this selfish man of pleasure would really be a safe, trustworthy friend. And I used to go very nearly mad with jealousy, wondering whether he would--would--Tell me, Audrey, did he make love to you?” She nodded, shuddering. “The scoundrel!” said Gerard between his clenched teeth. She drew closer to him. “There’s something more to tell you about him than that!” “I know! He encouraged you to take this house at Epsom and let people think that you kept a sort of gambling club.” “Oh, Gerard, there’s worse to be told than that.” His grasp tightened upon her hand, and a look so piteous came into his eyes that she hurried on: “They cheated there, they cheated at cards, Gerard, and--I’m sure--I _know_--that Mr. Candover was concerned in it.” This speech, in spite of all that he had feared, had guessed, came upon the young man with a great shock. That the rich, prosperous, easy-going, fascinating Mr. Candover should make love to his beautiful wife, was no surprise; it was what he had feared. But that he should be involved in such a nefarious business as card-sharping seemed too preposterous. He looked at Audrey as if he doubted her perfect sanity. “Oh, I knew what you’d say, what you’d think,” whispered she, putting one arm round his neck, and lowering her voice still more, as if the very walls might have ears. “And I knew you wouldn’t believe. But when you hear all I have to tell you, I think you’ll say I’m right.” Then, still in the same subdued tones, still clinging to him, she told--incoherently enough, but yet intelligibly to his sympathetic ears--the whole story of her being induced to take the business and to pay for it, and to assume the trade name of Rocada. She told the ghastly story of the lady in white, and of her mysterious disappearance without leaving even a trace for the doctor’s eye to discover. She told of her being induced to take “The Briars,” of her uneasiness there, of the episodes of Diggs and of Johnson, and then of her flight to town.