"I really can't believe it," I said. "I feel certain that she would never have exposed you willingly." "Alas!" she said at last, "the evil is now done, and the stigma cannot be removed. But you asked me to reveal certain facts that would place her mind at rest, restore her confidence, and give her freedom. I have told you. I have made a confession to you that no other person has had from my lips." "Ah, do not be pitiless," I cried imploringly, feeling assured that she alone knew the truth. Her assertion that she could restore my wife to freedom meant, I knew, the removal of that dark cloud of suspicion and dread that, overshadowing her, held her spellbound by fear. "Think," I urged, standing close to her, my hand resting upon the bare, unpolished table. "Once when you came to me, a stranger, and I rendered you a service, you promised to perform one for me in return when I desired it. I am now sorely in need of your friendship, and have come to you for aid." "We shall be friends always, I hope, Geoffrey," she answered quietly, pushing back her dark hair from her brow. Her head was untidy and her hair tangled, for so callous had she grown that she took no heed either of attire or personal appearance. "Then you will, at least, fulfil your promise," I said. "No," she replied, with dogged firmness. "In this matter I absolutely refuse. I know how weary and wretched your life must be, with mystery surrounding you as it does, and being compelled to live apart from the woman you love; but, frankly, the fact that her cold, proud Highness fears to acknowledge you, or tell you the truth, is a source of satisfaction to me. She has sown dissension, and is now reaping her harvest of tears." The cankerworm of care was eating out my heart, and I resolved to make one final appeal to her better nature, albeit I saw from her demeanour how embittered she was against Ella. "No effort have I left unattempted to seek some solution of the problem," I said. "Yet all is unavailing. I have sought the truth from Cecil Bingham, but he refused to utter one word, and referred me to you. He said you knew all." "Cecil Bingham!" she cried, suddenly starting. "Do you know him? He was your wife's friend." "Yes," I answered. "I know that, although I am unaware of the true character of their relationship." "Ah!" she ejaculated, and I thought she winced beneath my words. "He sent you here?" "Yes," I said. "But before seeing him I had endeavoured to obtain some facts from another of Ella's acquaintances, Andrew Beck." "Andrew Beck?" she repeated in a low, hollow voice, her brows contracting as if mention of his name were unpleasant to her ears. "You were jealous of him once," she added in a hard, dry tone. "Yea," I smiled. "But I am so no longer." "Why? I thought from what Ella told me long ago that you had some cause. He certainly was one of her admirers." "Yes. But he's about to be married."