"I never thought to see the day when I should trust you again," she said;
"I never expected to trust any man again."

"You will trust me, darling," Bell said, passionately. "If you still care
for me as I care for you. _Do_ you?"

The question came keen as steel. Enid shivered and hesitated. Bell laid a
light hand on her arm.

"Speak," he said. "I am going to clear myself, I am going to take back
my good name. But if you no longer care for me the rest matters
nothing. Speak."

"I am not one of those who change, God pity me," Enid murmured.

Bell drew a long, deep breath. He wanted no assurance beyond that.

"Then lead the way," he said. "I have come at the right time; I have been
looking for you everywhere, and I find you in the hour of your deepest
sorrow. When I knew your aunt last she was a cheerful, happy woman. From
what I hear now she is suffering, you are all suffering, under some
blighting grief."

"Oh, if you only knew what that sorrow was, Hatherly."

"Hatherly! How good the old name sounds from your lips. Nobody has ever
called me that since--since we parted. And to think that I should have
been searching for you all these years, when Miss Ruth Gates could have
given me the clue at any time. And why have you been playing such strange
tricks upon my friend David Steel? Why have you---What is that?"