“I heard your voices,” she said, looking at Sir Reginald, while her hand lay in his.  “I didn’t mean to listen at first.  But I was tempted, because you were talking of—­my husband, and—­” she smiled at him faintly, “I fell.”

“I think you were justified,” Sir Reginald said.

“Thank you,” she answered gently.  She turned from him to Bernard, and bending kissed him.  “Are you better?  Peter told me it wasn’t serious.  I would have come to you sooner, but I was asleep for a very long time, and afterwards—­Everard wanted me.”

“Everard!” he said sharply.  “Is he here?”

“Sit down!” murmured Sir Reginald, drawing forward his chair.

But Stella remained standing, her hand upon Bernard’s shoulder.  “Thank you.  But I haven’t come to stay.  Only to tell you—­just to tell you—­all the things that Bernard couldn’t, without betraying his trust.”

“My dear, dear child!” Bernard broke in quickly, but Sir Reginald intervened in the same moment.

“No, no!  Pardon me!  Let her speak!  She wishes to do so, and I—­wish to listen.”

Stella’s hand pressed a little upon Bernard’s shoulder, as though she supported herself thereby.

“It is right that you should know, Sir Reginald,” she said.  “It is only for my sake that it has been kept from you.  But I—­have travelled the desert too long to mind an extra stone or two by the way.  First, with regard to the suspicion which drove him out of the Army.  You thought—­everyone thought—­that he had killed Ralph Dacre up in the mountains.  Even I thought so.”  Her voice trembled a little.  “And I had less excuse than any one else, for he swore to me that he was innocent—­though he would not—­could not—­tell me the truth of the matter.  The truth was simply this.  Ralph Dacre was not dead.”

“Ah!” Sir Reginald said softly.

Bernard reached up and strongly grasped the hand that rested upon him.  But he spoke no word.

Stella went on with greater steadiness, her eyes resolutely meeting the shrewd old eyes that watched her.  “He—­Everard—­came between us because only a fortnight after our marriage he received the news that Ralph had a wife living in England.  Perhaps I ought to tell you—­though this in no way influenced him—­that my marriage to Ralph was a mistake.  I married him because I was unhappy, not because I loved him.  I sinned, and I have been punished.”

“Poor girl!” said Sir Reginald very gently.

Her eyelids quivered, but she would not suffer them to fall.  “Everard sent him away from me, made him vanish completely, and then came himself to me—­he was in native disguise—­and told me he was dead.  I suppose it was wrong of him.  If so, he too has been punished.  But he wanted to save my pride.  I had plenty of pride in those days.  It is all gone now.  At least, all I have left is for him—­that his honour may be vindicated.  I am afraid I am telling the story very badly.  Forgive me for taking so long!”