"It was not that," she said. "He was afraid of her,--mortally afraid of her. He lived in dread of the day when she would learn the truth and turn upon him. He always meant to tell her himself, and yet he could not find the courage. Toward the end he could not bear to have her near him. It would not be honest in me to say that he loved her. I do not believe he would have loved a child if one had come to him and me,--no child of mine could take the place you had in his heart." She spoke with calm bitterness. "You say she told you about him last night. I am not surprised that she should have spoken of him as she did. It was not possible for her to love him as a father. Nature took good care of that. There was a barrier between them. She was not his child. The tie of blood was lacking. Nature cannot be deceived. She has never told me what her true feelings toward him were, but I have sensed them. I could understand. I think she is and always has been bewildered. It is possible that away back in her brain there is something too tiny to ever become a thought, and yet it binds her to a man she does not even remember. But we are wasting time. You are wondering why I have told you the truth about Viola. The secret was safe, so why should I reveal it to you,--my enemy,--isn't that what you are thinking?" "Yes. I don't quite grasp your motive in telling me, especially as I am still to look upon Viola as my half-sister. I have already stated that under no circumstances will I hurt her by raking up that old, infamous story. I find myself in a most difficult position. She believes herself to be my sister while I know that she is not. It must strike even you, Rachel Carter, as the ghastliest joke that fate ever played on a man,--or a woman, either."