"I have no
right to hear you; I have no right to even stand in your presence until
I have confessed everything. I came to the Pontiac; I made your
acquaintance, Miss Nott, through a fraud as wicked as anything your
father charges to De Ferrieres. I am not a contractor. I never was an
honest lodger in the Pontiac. I was simply a spy."
"But you didn't mean to be--it was some mistake, wasn't it?" said
Rosey, quite white, but more from sympathy with the offender's emotion
than horror at the offense.
"I am afraid I did mean it. But bear with me for a few moments longer
and you shall know all. It's a long story. Will you walk on, and--take
my arm? You do not shrink from me, Miss Nott. Thank you. I scarcely
deserve the kindness."
Indeed so little did Rosey shrink that he was conscious of a slight
reassuring pressure on his arm as they moved forward, and for the
moment I fear the young man felt like exaggerating his offense for the
sake of proportionate sympathy. "Do you remember," he continued, "one
evening when I told you some sea tales, you said you always thought
there must be some story about the Pontiac? There _was_ a story of the
Pontiac, Miss Nott--a wicked story--a terrible story--which I might
have told you, which I _ought_ to have told you--which was the story
that brought me there.
Pages:
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677