"I am afraid I have," she returned. "Such things travel quickly. I have heard something which has distressed me very much. It is something I have heard faint rumors of before, but now it has taken on a definite form. This morning I was out, and this afternoon I have had some callers who were not averse to speaking plainly. I have heard a great many things said which have given me pain, and which embarrass me seriously. That was the reason I was wishing to see you. I felt that you would at least tell me a story without prejudice. There is a great deal of prejudice shown, of course. We need expect nothing else. I am sure Professor Herrick can know nothing of this. Will you tell me what you yourself know?" "That is what I came to do," said the colonel, still paler, perhaps. "There is a great deal to tell--more than the world will ever know. It is only to such as you that it could be told." There was more emotion in his voice and face than he had meant to reveal; perhaps something in the kind anxiousness of his companion's eyes moved him; he found that he could not sit still and speak as if his interest was only the common one of an outsider, so he rose and stood before her. "I cannot even tell you how it is that I know what I do to be true," he said. "I have only my word, but I _know_ you will believe me." "You may be sure of that," she answered. "I _am_ sure of it," he returned, "or I should not be here, for I have no other proof to offer. I came to make an appeal to you in behalf of a person who has been wronged." "In behalf of Mrs. Amory?" she said. "Yes," he replied, "though she does not know I am here, and will never know it. It scarcely seems my business, perhaps; she should have others to defend her; but there are no others who, having the interest of relationship, might not be accused of self-interest too. There is a slight tie of kinship between us, but it is only a slight one, and we have not always been very good friends, perhaps, though it must have been my own fault. I think I never pleased her very well, even when I saw her oftenest. She was used to brighter companionship. But her father liked me; we were friends, warm and close. I have felt almost as if I was his son, and have tried to spare him the knowledge of what would have hurt him. During the last few weeks I think he has had suspicions which have disturbed him, but they have not been suspicions of trouble to his child." "I felt sure of that," the lady remarked. "_She_ has no suspicions of the true aspect of affairs," he continued, "though she has lately gained knowledge of the wrong done her. It has been a great wrong. She has not been spared. Her inexperience made her a child in the hands of those who used her as their tool. She understands now that it is too late--and it is very bitter to her." "You knew her when she was a girl," his companion said, with her kind eyes on his sad, stern face.