ows all things, and the honesty of my purpose even in
this; for while she lived, although it often pricked my conscience, I
had never the hardihood to undeceive her. Even a little secret, in such
a married life as ours, is like the rose-leaf which kept the Princess
from her sleep.

From this the talk branched into other subjects, and I told her much
about my lonely and wandering existence; she, for her part, giving ear
and saying little. Although we spoke very naturally, and latterly on
topics that might seem indifferent, we were both sweetly agitated. Too
soon it was time for her to go; and we separated, as if by mutual
consent, without shaking hands, for both knew that, between us, it was
no idle ceremony.

The next, and that was the fourth day of our acquaintance, we met in the
same spot, but early in the morning, with much familiarity and yet much
timidity on either side. When she had once more spoken about my
danger--and that, I understood, was her excuse for coming--I, who had
prepared a great deal of talk during the night, began to tell her how
highly I valued her kind interest, and how no one had ever cared to hear
about my life, nor had I ever cared to relate it, before yesterday.
Suddenly she interrupted me, saying with vehemence--

"And yet, if you knew who I was, you would not so much as speak to me!"

I told her such a thought was madness, and, little as we had met, I
counted her already a dear friend; but my protestations seemed only to
make her more desperate.

"My father is in hiding!" she cried.

"My dear," I said, forgetting for the first time to add "young lady,"
"what do I care? If he were in hiding twenty times over, would it make
one thought of change in you?"

"Ah, but the cause!" she cried, "the cause! It is----" she faltered for
a second--"it is disgraceful to us."

CHAPTER IV

TELLS IN WHAT A STARTLING MANNER I LEARNED THAT I WAS NOT ALONE IN
GRADEN SEA-WOOD

This was my wife's story, as I drew it from her among tears and sobs.
Her name was Clara Huddlestone: it sounded very beautiful in my ears;
but not so beautiful as that other name of Clara Cassilis, which she
wore during the longer, and I thank God the happier, portion of her
life. Her father, Bernard Huddlestone, had been a private banker in a
very large way of business. Many years before, his affairs becoming
disordered, he had been led to try dangerous, and at last criminal,
expedients to retrieve himself from ruin.