She seemed to speak with ever-increasing difficulty, and her hand went up suddenly to her throat.  It was obvious that this self-imposed disclosure of the truth was taking her strength to its uttermost limit.

“I had better tell you the whole story—­from the beginning,” she said, at last, haltingly, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she resumed in the hard, expressionless voice of intense effort.

“Before Maurice went out to India, he and I were engaged to be married.  On my part, it would have been only a marriage of convenience, for I was not in love with him, although I had always been fond of him in a cousinly way.  There was another man whom I loved—­the man I afterwards married, Geoffrey Lovell—­” for an instant her eyes glowed with a sudden radiance of remembrance—­“and he and I became secretly engaged, in spite of the fact that I had already promised to marry Maurice.  I expect you think that was unforgivable of me,” she seemed to search the intent faces of her little audience as though challenging the verdict she might read therein; “but there was some excuse.  I was very young, and at the time I promised myself to Maurice I did not know that Geoffrey cared for me.  And then—­when I knew—­I hadn’t the courage to break with Maurice.  He and Geoffrey were both going out to India—­they were in the same regiment—­and I kept hoping that something might happen which would make it easier for me.  Maurice might meet and be attracted by some other woman. . . .  I hoped he would.”

She fell silent for a moment, then, gathering her remaining strength together, as it seemed, she went on relentlessly—­

“Something did happen.  Maurice was cashiered from the Army, and I had a legitimate reason for terminating the engagement between us. . . .  Then, just as I thought I was free, he came to tell me his case would be reopened; there was an eye-witness who could prove his innocence, a private in his own regiment.  I never knew who the man was”—­she turned slightly at the sound of a sudden brusque movement from Miles Herrick, then, as he volunteered no remark, continued—­“but it appeared he had been badly wounded and had only learned the verdict of the court-martial after his recovery.  He had then written to Maurice, telling him that he was in a position to prove that it was not he, but Geoffrey Lovell who had been guilty of cowardice.  When I understood this, and realized what it must mean, I confessed to Maurice that Geoffrey was the man I loved, and I begged and implored him to take the blame—­to let the verdict of the court-marital stand.  It was a horrible thing to do—­I know that . . . but think what it meant to me!  It meant the honour and welfare of the man I loved, as opposed to the honour and welfare of a man for whom I cared comparatively little.  Maurice was not easy to move, but I made him understand that, whatever happened now, I should never marry him—­that I should sink or swim with Geoffrey, and at last he consented to do the thing I asked.  He accepted the blame and went away—­to the Colonies, I believe.  Afterwards, as you all know, he returned to England and lived at Far End under the name of Garth Trent.”