“But in a case like this, when you are worried and excited, as you are at this moment, why not confide in me and allow me to help you?” she suggested.  “You see that, although I act as your secretary, dad, I know nothing of the nature of your business.”

“And forgive me for speaking very plainly, child, I do not intend that you should,” the old man said.

“Because you cannot trust me!” she pouted.  “You think that because I’m a woman I cannot keep a secret.”

“Not at all,” he said.  “I place every confidence in you, dear.  You are the only real friend left to me in the whole world.  I know that you would never willingly betray me to my enemies; but——­”

“Well, but what?”

“But you might do so unknowingly.  You might by one single chance-word place me within the power of those who seek my downfall.”

“Who seeks your downfall, dad?” she asked very seriously.

“That’s a matter which I desire to keep to myself.  Unfortunately, I do not know the identity of my enemies; hence I am compelled to keep from you certain matters which, in other circumstances, you might know.  But,” he added, “this is not the first time we’ve discussed this question, Gabrielle dear.  You are my daughter, and I trust you.  Do not, child, misjudge me by suspecting that I doubt your loyalty.”

“I don’t, dad; only sometimes I——­”

“Sometimes you think,” he said, still stroking her hair—­“you think that I ought to tell you the reason I receive all these reports from Paris, and their real significance.  Well, to tell the truth, dear, it is best that you should not know.  If you reflect for a moment,” went on the old man, tears welling slowly in his filmy, sightless eyes, “you will realise my unhappy situation—­how I am compelled to hide my affairs even from Lady Heyburn herself.  Does she ever question you regarding them?”

“She used to at one time; but she refrains nowadays, for I would tell her nothing.”

“Has anyone else ever tried to glean information from you?” he inquired, after a long breath.

“Mr. Flockart has done so on several occasions of late.  But I pleaded absolute ignorance.”

“Oh, Flockart has been asking you, has he?” remarked her father with surprise.  “Well, I suppose it is only natural.  A blind man’s doings are always more or less a mystery to the world.”

“I don’t like Mr. Flockart, dad,” she said.

“So you’ve remarked before, my dear,” her father replied.  “Of course you are right in withholding any information upon a subject which is my own affair; yet, on the other hand, you should always remember that he is your mother’s very good friend—­and yours also.”

“Mine!” gasped the girl, starting up.  Would that she were free to tell the poor, blind, helpless man the ghastly truth!  “My friend, dad!  What makes you think that?”

“Because he is always singing your praises, both to me and your mother.”