"And my assassin would have been the woman I love, I suppose, you are going to tell me?" I observed, amused at her melodramatic manner and the absurdity of the idea. "No, I leave you to discover the truth," she answered, arching her dark brows, a shadow of annoyance crossing her refined features at that moment. "You are apparently well acquainted with Miss Laing," I said, after a long pause. "I know her," she admitted abruptly. "Then, as I refuse to listen further to any charges against her of which you can give me no corroboration, it may be best for me to bring her here to hear your allegations, even at risk of creating a scene. You said you intended to render me a service, and by facing her you can." "No, no," she cried, suddenly jumping from her chair and laying her hand upon my arm in earnestness. "She does not know I am in London; she must never know, otherwise our plans will be spoilt. Do not mention my name to her; now promise me," she implored. "Promise me, and I will render you the assistance you will require ere long. The secret knowledge I possess enables me to give you warning. Remember that what I have said is between one friend and another." Through my perturbed mind there surged vivid recollections of recent events, of Ella's beauty, and of the inscrutable mystery surrounding her. It was amazing, to say the least, that this handsome girl, whose life had been so romantic and full of tragedy, should thus make veiled allegations and denounce as vile and worthless the woman I so deeply loved. That she had some ulterior motive was, of course, apparent, but although I debated within myself its probable cause, I utterly failed to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. One fact was, however, impressed upon me during our subsequent conversation--namely, that Sonia was in possession of the secret that Ella withheld from me. That the pretty Russian had known Mrs Laing and Ella intimately I could not doubt from what she told me regarding them, yet I did not fail to detect in her voice a harshness whenever she spoke of them, the more so when she mentioned the name of my well-beloved. Once, in trying to determine the cause of this, I felt inclined to attribute it to jealousy, but when I reflected that I had seen Sonia only once before, and that I knew absolutely nothing of her except what she herself had told me, I scouted the idea. It was plain, too, that she had been intimately acquainted with Dudley, for she spoke of him familiarly, smiled at his little eccentricities, and expressed the most heartfelt regret at his mysterious and tragic end. Times without number, when she had sunk back into her chair, I tried to induce her to impart to me something more regarding the woman I loved, but she declined. She warned me by constant utterances to be circumspect, but regarding the past preserved a silence rigid and severe.