could not have killed him. Do you think me a murderess? If you do, just
let me go from your arms, and I shall understand. You needn't tell me in
words."

Roger held her closer. "No, my darling," he said, "you're not a
murderess. You didn't kill Louis Moreno. He couldn't have lived many
weeks. The doctor had warned John Heron. I love you more than ever for
what you've gone through. It's you who should hate me for my cruelty
and--and my beastly suspicion. But there were some things that tried me
rather hard. Why didn't you tell me this story long ago? Surely you
could have trusted me to keep your secret?"

"Yes, I could have trusted you, even though it was Stephen's secret more
than mine. But I had taken a double oath not to tell! First, I'd
promised Stephen himself when he came back from the dead, never to give
any hint of the truth. Later, when he was kidnapped, I was obliged to
swear another oath, on the memory of our dead parents, and my love for
my brother, that I wouldn't betray Cheffinsky and his comrades. Now it's
different. They have betrayed me. Stephen is dead. Such a girl as Clo
Riley wouldn't have sent this message unless she knew for certain. He
must have died just before that dreadful Sunday when all our
unhappiness--yours and mine--began, Roger. To keep their hold over me,
those men would have done all they could to save him till they had the
papers they wanted to use, and ruin John Heron. Soon after you brought
me to New York they found out about our marriage, and put 'personals' in
the newspapers headed like those others in California: 'Steve's Sister.'
They knew, of course, that their man, who should have met me in Chicago,
had been prevented from coming--imprisoned on a charge which they called
a 'frame-up' but I believe he must have picked someone's pocket and been
arrested in the railway station. They still had power over me, although
I was your wife, but I had power over them, too, because I'd got the
papers they wanted. I answered the messages, and refused to give up what
I had unless my brother fetched it. I hoped that would bring him. But he
only wrote--a short letter. He said that he was safe for the time being,
and was treated kindly. He would come when he could. Meanwhile, I 'must
keep the papers and the secret'--and wait. I felt relieved after that! I
dared to let myself be happy. Then, that Sunday, when Clo and I went out
in the motor, a man was waiting for me in the street. He made me
und