“Climbed down the trellis, probably,” I said, deeply interested.  “It appears strong enough to support a man.  I wish you had got sight of the fellow.”

She lifted her hands to her head.

“But I was so frightened.  My head throbs now with pain.  I cannot explain, but—­but I had begun to hate this mission of ours before we ever reached here, and then this awful house, and that man and woman.  I almost begged you not to leave me alone, yet I conquered that weakness, and said good night, and locked my door.  You never realized how I felt.”

“No, not entirely, although I did comprehend you were sorry you had consented to come.”

“Not that altogether,” and her eyes uplifting met mine, “I was frightened last night in the darkness.  I confess I completely lost my nerve, and would have run away if I could.  Perhaps I even said things which made you believe I regretted my action in coming with you.  But I am more myself now, and I mean to remain, and discover what it all means.  Can you guess why?”

“No; I would naturally suppose the night would have added to your terror, your desire to get away.”

“Then you do not suspect even now who I am?”

“Who you are?  Only as you have told me.”

“And I told you only a half truth.  I am the wife of Philip Henley.”  Her cheeks flushed, a touch of passion in her voice as she faced me.  “That is the truth.  Do you suppose that I would ever have come here with you otherwise?  No matter how desperate my condition was that would have been impossible.  I should have despised myself.  Even as it was I have been thoroughly shamed to have permitted you to think of me as you must.  Now I tell you the truth—­I consented to come because I am Philip Henley’s wife.”

My surprise at this swift avowal kept me silent, yet I could not conceal the admiration from revealment in my eyes.  She must have read aright, for she drew back a step, grasping the knob of the door.

“I—­I wanted to tell you yesterday—­all the way coming down here.  I felt that I could live the deceit no longer.  I do not blame you, Mr. Craig, for you are a man, and you had every reason to believe that you were doing nothing really wrong.  I wanted to learn all I could before I confessed my identity, and—­and I wanted to discover just what you were like.”

“You mean whether I could be trusted?”

“Yes; I—­I could not tell at first.  We met so strangely, and merely because I liked you from the beginning was not enough.  You understand?”

“Yes, and now?”

She looked at me frankly.

“Now I am simply going to trust you fully.  I must; there is no other way.  I thought it all over and over again last night, and determined to confess everything as soon as we met this morning.  I am Viola Henley, Mr. Craig, and I need you.”

CHAPTER XV