NE

I looked across at the woman, who was waiting my answer with every
appearance of feverish interest.

"What should I know about him?" I said slowly. "I have been told that
he is dead. I know no more than that."

She started as though my words had stung her.

"It is not possible!" she exclaimed. "I must have heard of it. When he
left me--it was less than three months ago--he seemed better than I had
known him for years."

"All my life," I said, "I have understood that my father died by his own
hand after his disgrace. To-night for the first time I was told that
this was not the fact. I understood, from what my informant said, that
he had died recently."

She drew a sharp breath between her teeth, and suddenly struck the
cushioned arm of the carriage by her side with her clenched hand.

"It is a lie!" she declared. "Whoever told you so, it is a lie!"

"Do you mean that he is not dead?" I exclaimed. "Do you mean that you
have not seen him yourself--within the last few months?" she demanded
fiercely. "He left me to come to you on the first day of the New Year."

"I have never seen him to my knowledge in my life," I answered.

She leaned back in her seat, murmuring something to herself which I
could not catch. Past-mistress of deceit though she may have been, I
was convinced that her consternation at my statement was honest. She
did not speak or look at me again for some time. As for me, I sat
silent with the horror of a thought. Underneath the rug my limbs were
cold and lifeless. I sat looking out of the rain-splashed window into
the darkness, with fixed staring eyes, and a hideous fancy in my brain.
Every now and then I thought that I could see it--a white evil face
pressed close to the blurred glass, grinning in upon me. Every shriek
of the engine--and there were many just then, for we were passing
through a network of tunnels--brought beads of moisture on to my
forehead, made me start and shake like a criminal. Surely that was a
cry! I started in my seat, only to see that my companion, now her old
self again, was watching me intently.

"I am afraid," she said softly, "that you are not very strong. The
excitement of talking of these things has been too much for you."

"I have never had a day's illness in my life," I answered. "I am
perfectly well."

"I am glad," she said simply. "I must finish what I was telling you.
Your father was continually talking and thinking of you. He knew all
about you at colle