“How came you to know of it?” she suddenly asked.

Questioned thus, I twined my story in with hers, she listening in a rapt way, peculiarly her own.  I told her of my prisonment on the day of her visit.  I confessed entirely, up to the point she had narrated.  When I ended, she said,—­

“You have kept this secret twenty-five days; mine has been mine eighteen years.  Mr. McKey has wandered in the time over the world of civilization, coming here at every return, making only day-visits, wandering up and down familiar places, meeting people whom he knew, but who never saw him through his disguises.  He met my mother twice; even her quick eyes had no ray of suspicion in them.

“Four years ago we went to Europe:  father’s health demanded it.  There, by accident, I met Mr. McKey.  Fourteen years had so changed him from the medical student in Doctor Percival’s office, that, although without disguise, neither mother nor Abraham recognized him.  It was in England that father died,—­there that we met Mr. McKey.  It was he who, coming as a stranger, proved our best friend, whom mother and Abraham called Mr. Herbert.  It was his hand lifted up for the last time my father’s head just before he died.  It was he who went to and fro making all needful arrangements for father’s burial.  At last we prepared to leave.  He came to the steamer to say parting words.  Mother and Abraham, with tearful eyes, thanking him for his past kindness, begged, should he ever come to America, a visit from him.  When their farewells were ended, he looked around for me.  I was standing apart from them; the place where my feet then were is to-day fathoms deep under iceberg-soil:  it was upon the Pacific’s deck.  I wonder if just there where I then stood it is as cold as elsewhere,—­if Ocean’s self hath power to congeal the vitality of spirit.”

Miss Axtell paused one moment, as if answering the question to herself.  In that interval I remembered the face that only three weeks agone I had looked upon, over which Dead-Sea waves had beat in vain.  After the pause, she went on:—­

“I gave Mr. McKey the farewell, silent of all words.  A few moments later, and we were on our homeward way, leaving a friend and a grave in England.

“After our coming home, an intense longing came to speak of Herbert,—­to tell my proud mother to whom she was indebted for so many acts of kindly friendship; but often as I said, ‘I will,’ I yet did not.  To-day I would wait for the morrow; on the morrow indecision came; and at last, when the intent was stronger than ever, when I had laid me down to sleep after an interview with Mr. McKey, solemnly promising Heaven that with the morning light I would confess all and leave the consequences with my God, in that night-time He sent forth His angel to gather in her spirit.”

Miss Axtell covered her face with the hands so long rigidly clasped about her precious package, and the very air that was in the room caught the thrill and quiver of her heart, strong to suffer, strong to love.  When she again spoke, it was in low, murmurous tones.