“It is your likeness, father,” I answered. “I saw it, and there can be no mistake. She has admitted it, but she will tell me nothing.” He shook his head. “It may happen that you will know some day,” he answered, faintly, “but not from me--never from me.” I tightened my clasp upon his hands. “Do not say that,” I continued, firmly. “There is something binding you three together, yet keeping you all apart. You and Bruce Deville and Adelaide Fortress. What is it? A secret? Some common knowledge of an unhappy past? I alone am ignorant of it; I cannot bear it any longer. If you do not tell me what it is I must go away. I am not a child--I will know!” He lay quite still and looked at me sorrowfully. “There is a secret,” he said, slowly, “but it is not mine to tell. Have patience, child, and some day you will understand. Only have patience.” “I have been patient long enough,” I answered, bitterly. “I cannot be patient any longer. If I cannot be trusted with this secret now, I shall go away; Alice can take my place here. I have been at home so little, that you will not miss me. I will go back to Dresden. I have made up my mind.” He caught hold of my hands and held them with burning fingers. “A little while,” he pleaded, looking at me piteously. “Stay with me a little while longer. Very soon you may know, but not yet--not--yet----” “Why not?” “The secret is not mine alone. It is not for me to tell. Be patient, Kate! For God’s sake, be patient!” “I have been patient long enough,” I murmured. “I shall go away. I can do no good here. I am not even trusted.” “A little longer,” he pleaded. “Be patient a little longer. It is a terrible burden which has been placed on my shoulders. Help me to bear it. Stay with me.” “You have Alice----” “Alice is good, but she is not strong. She is no help--and some day I may need help.” “I do not wish to leave you,” I cried, with trembling lips. “I do not want to go away. I want to do all I can to help you--yet--imagine yourself in my place! I am groping about in the dark corners, I want the light.” He looked up at me with a faint, weary smile. “Child,” he said, “you are like your mother was. Won’t you believe that I am helpless? If you really mean that you will leave me if I do not tell you, well, you must go. Even if you go straight to that woman and tell her all that you know--even then my lips are sealed. This secret is not mine to tell. When you do know, it will not be I who shall tell you. All I can say is, go if you must, but for God’s sake stay!” His face was ineffably piteous. I looked at his worn, anxious face, and my heart grew soft. A lump rose up in my throat, and my eyes were dim. I stooped down and kissed him. “I will stay,” I whispered. “I will not ask you any more questions, and I will not leave whilst you need me--whilst you are ill.”