"I admit that I have done so, for he was always my friend--always. But
please say nothing to my father regarding what I have done."
"To me a great mystery enshrouds Mr Arnold," I said. "Cannot you tell
me something concerning him--who and what he was? By my very slight
knowledge of him, I feel instinctively that he was no ordinary person."
"And your estimate was surely a perfectly correct one, Mr Kemball. He
was one of the most remarkable of men."
"You knew of his death. How?"
"I knew he was in London, for he scribbled me a note telling me his
address, but requesting me to reveal it to nobody, not even my father,"
she said, in a low, hoarse voice. "I called to see him upon some urgent
business--because he wished to see me, but, alas! they told me at the
hotel that he had died only a few hours before. So I went away, fearing
to reveal myself to you, who they told me was his friend. Two days
later I made inquiries, and learned where they had buried him. Then, in
tribute to the memory of the man of whose greatness of heart and
remarkable attainments the world has remained in ignorance, I laid
flowers upon his grave."
"Why did you fear to reveal yourself to me, Miss Seymour?" I asked
earnestly, looking straight into her soft brown eyes as the car rushed
along.
But she avoided my gaze, while a flush overspreading her cheeks betrayed
her embarrassment.
"Because--well, because I did not know how far you might be trusted,"
was her frank, open response, after a moment's hesitation. "Indeed, I
do not even now know whether you would still remain our friend and
preserve the secret if the ugly truth became revealed to you!"