“No, I do not,” I answered earnestly.  “It is my absolute confidence in you which has held me steadfast.  He has shown me evidence of his identity which would have convinced me under other circumstances—­letters and pictures; I will show them to you, for I know where they are kept in the desk—­but in opposition I had your word, and I believed in that.  No evidence would shake my faith in you, and I am certain now there is fraud here—­some devilish plot concocted to steal Judge Henley’s fortune.”

“What letters?  What pictures were they?”

“Letters from the Judge to his son—­intimate, family letters, and a photograph of the father and this man taken together.”

“And were the letters addressed to Philip?”

“The envelopes had been destroyed, and no name was mentioned, but the photograph was endorsed in the Judge’s handwriting.”

She sank down on a locker, and hid her face in her hands.  The pitiful dejection in her attitude compelled me to bend over her in quick sympathy.

“Please do not take it like that,” I urged.  “We shall find a way of escape if we keep our courage, and work together.”

“Oh, it is not that,” and she looked up into my face.  “I am not afraid.  Only I cannot bear the thought that you doubt me ever so little.  I know I have been indiscreet, that you might justly deem me an adventuress.  But I am not, Gordon Craig; I am a good woman left to fight alone, and I must have your faith, or break down utterly.”

“Why do you suppose you have not?” I asked, grasping her hands in complete forgetfulness.  “We are together now in open fight against these villains.  There is no longer any purpose in acting a lie.”

“It was a lie?”

“A bare-faced one.  Never for an instant did I intend deserting you, or becoming that man’s tool.”

“And you believe me—­all I have told you; that I am really the wife of Philip Henley?”

“Yes,” I answered through clinched teeth, struggling to control myself.

For a moment she sat in silence, and, while I dare not look at her, I knew her eyes were upon my face.

“Then I will do whatever you say, go wherever you tell me,” she promised gravely.  “I cannot decide for myself.  I am too confused to think clearly, but I trust you as a friend.”

“Is—­is that all?” I stammered, unable to restrain the words.

“All!  What do you mean? is that not enough?” in surprise.

My eyes met hers, and I cursed myself for a fool.

“Yes—­I—­I meant nothing,” I managed to explain lamely.  “That was a slip of the tongue.  Please forget it, and keep faith in me.”

I drew aside the curtain draping one of the after ports, and glanced out, eager for anything to distract attention.  Through the clear glass I could see the curve of shore-line forming the little cove.  Just within the foam of the breakers a half dozen men were launching a small boat.  I stared at them an instant, before realizing what it meant.  Then I dropped the curtain.