"Yes, Godfrey," she exclaimed, in that soft sweet voice that always charmed me so. "It was true that I had previously met Manuel Carrera in Nice, but he certainly was never my lover, as he alleged. But now I have told you the truth you can easily see why I dare not speak while he lived, for he would have brought against me a cruel charge of jealous murder which he might easily have substantiated." Our eyes met, and her gaze wavered. "Why--how could he?" inquired Sammy. "Because early next morning I found out the number of his room and most foolishly wrote to him urging him to keep the secret that I had been in the dead man's room. This letter, combined with his testimony, would have been, no doubt, sufficient to condemn me. Again, the night you met me at Studland he followed me out and found me almost the moment after we parted. He taunted me with that letter, and we struggled for its possession." "I recollect!" Sammy exclaimed. "It was I who was one of the first to enter poor Carrera's room, and I remember the revolver lay in a position that much puzzled the police. They questioned the servants if it had been moved. That fellow Shacklock, who was living in the hotel, evidently stole the contents of the poor fellow's despatch-box and handed them to Himes, who came that evening to call upon him. It is an old trick of hotel thieves: the man who commits the theft remains in the hotel and expresses the greatest indignation and sympathy with the victim, while his accomplice gets safely away across the frontier with the booty." "And this is the actual truth!" I cried, staring at her amazed. "The truth, Godfrey--the whole truth!" declared Ella, in a faltering tone, her cheeks flushed with shame. "You must have mistrusted me, but though bound to that blackguard by a secret my love for you has, I swear, ever been unwavering. Surely you must have seen what I have suffered," she cried. "That man who has now met with such an untimely end wished to marry me for my position, and because--" "Because you are beautiful, my sweetheart!" I said, holding her in my arms and kissing her fondly. "I know. I see it all now." "And--and you really forgive me, Godfrey?" she asked seriously. "For what?" "For refusing to tell you this." "You were silent, darling, because you were that man's victim. You feared to speak. But his own enemy has fortunately released you. The thieves have quarrelled among themselves--and fatally. We can now afford to watch in silence." Our hands clasped, our lips met, and our hearts beat in unison--hearts that were true to each other with a love that was real love. "Lucie," I said at last, turning to the despairing girl, who now knew, for the first time, her father's shameful secret, "there is one point which is still a mystery. Have you any explanation to offer? At the Villa Verde, after Nardini's flight, a young lady, said to be a friend of yours, was found dead in his study. Who was she?"