"No, no," she cried. "How can I? No, I only beg and implore of you to help me, and not to misjudge me." "Misjudge you, why? I don't understand," I said, in pretence of ignorance. "Ah! of course not. But to-morrow you will know everything, and--" but she did not conclude her sentence. There was a change in her countenance, and I saw that she was fainting. I drew her to a big armchair, and a second later she sank into it unconscious. Next instant I dashed along to my room for the water-bottle, whispered to Eric what had taken place and ran back to assist my little friend. Ten minutes later she opened her eyes again and gazed steadily at the candle. Then, finding me at her side, she whispered,-- "Yes, ah--yes, I remember. How very foolish I have been. Forgive me, Wilfrid, won't you? I miscalculated my strength. I thought myself stronger," and her soft hand again sought mine, and she looked into my eyes steadily, with a long, earnest gaze. "You are in distress, Tibbie," I said, as kindly as I could. "What is it? How can I help you?" "You can save me," she said in an intense, earnest voice. "You can save my life if you will." "If I will? Why, of course I will," was my quick response. "Then you will really help me?" "Only tell me what you wish me to do and I'll do it at once," I replied. "You will have no fear?" "Fear of what?" "Well," she exclaimed, hesitating, "suppose you were suspected of something--that the police believed you to be guilty of a crime?" "Guilty of a crime?" I echoed, with a forced smile. "Well, they might suspect whatever they like, so long as I was innocent." "Then you are really prepared to bear any suspicion if it would be for my salvation?" "Have I not already said that I am quite ready to help you, Tibbie?" "Ah, yes, because you do not yet realise your grave peril," she said. "If only I dare be frank with you--if only I dare tell you the awful, bitter truth! Yet I can't, and you must remain in ignorance. Your very ignorance will cause you to court danger, and at the same time to misjudge me." "I shall not misjudge you," I assured her. "But at the present I am, as you say, entirely in the dark. What is it you want me to do?" For a moment she was silent, apparently fearing to make the suggestion lest I should refuse. At last she looked straight into my face and said,-- "What I ask you to do is to make a great sacrifice in order to save me. I am in peril, Wilfrid, in a grave, terrible peril. The sword of fate hangs over me, and may fall at any instant. I must fly from here--I must fly to-night and hide--I--" She hesitated again. Her words were an admission of her guilt. She was a murderess. That unknown man that I had left lying cold and dead beneath the trees had fallen by her hand. "Well?" I asked, rather coldly, I fear. "I must hide. I must efface my identity, and for certain reasons-- indeed to obtain greater security I must marry."