“Mr. Murray, I am cold, and I should like to go to the fire if you have no more questions to ask, and will be so kind as to unlock the door.”

He glanced round the room, and taking his grey travelling shawl from a chair where he had thrown it, laid it in a heap on the marble tiles, and said: 

“Yes, this floor is icy.  Stand on the shawl, though I am well aware you are more tired of me than of the room.”

Another long pause followed, and then St. Elmo Murray came close to his companion, saying: 

“For four long years I have been making an experiment—­one of those experiments which men frequently attempt, believing all the time that it is worse than child’s play, and half hoping that it will prove so and sanction the wisdom of their skepticism concerning the result.  When I left home I placed in your charge the key of my private desk or cabinet, exacting the promise that only upon certain conditions would you venture to open it.  Those contingencies have not arisen, consequently there can be no justification for your having made yourself acquainted with the contents of the vault.  I told you I trusted the key in your hands; I did not.  I felt assured you would betray the confidence.  It was not a trust—­it was a temptation, which I believed no girl or woman would successfully resist.  I am here to receive an account of your stewardship, and I tell you now I doubt you.  Where is the key?”

She took from her pocket a small ivory box, and opening it drew out the little key and handed it to him.

“Mr. Murray, it was a confidence which I never solicited, which has caused me much pain, because it necessitated concealment from your mother, but which—­God is my witness—­I have not betrayed.  There is the key, but of the contents of the tomb I know nothing.  It was ungenerous in you to tempt a child as you did; to offer a premium as it were for a violation of secrecy, by whetting my curiosity and then placing in my own hands the means of gratifying it.  Of course I have wondered what the mystery was, and why you selected me for its custodian; and I have often wished to inspect the interior of that marble cabinet; but child though I was, I think I would have gone to the stake sooner than violate my promise.”

As he took the key she observed that his hand trembled and that a sudden pallor overspread his face.

“Edna Earl, I give you one last chance to be truthful with me.  If you yielded to the temptation—­and what woman, what girl, would not?—­it would be no more than I really expected, and you will scarcely have disappointed me; for, as I told you, I put no faith in you.  But even if you succumbed to a natural curiosity, be honest and confess it!”

She looked up steadily into his inquisitorial eyes, and answered: 

“I have nothing to confess.”

He laid his hand heavily on her shoulder, and his tone was eager, vehement, pleading, tremulous: