The police, it seems, have been searching for you everywhere."
Her eyes were cast quickly around the room, as though seeking means of escape from that cross-examination. Then she answered:
"I really don't see what my business concerns any one--so long as I am at home again."
"This is scarcely like you, Gwen," exclaimed the grey-haired man reproachfully. "You are usually so very thoughtful for me, and careful not to give me cause for a moment's anxiety."
"It was quite inevitable, dad," she replied. "I would not have remained silent intentionally--as you well know."
"But surely," interrupted Frank in a voice which showed that his suspicions were already aroused, "surely you can at least allow us the satisfaction of knowing where you've been, dear!"
"No harm has befallen me, has there? Therefore, why trouble about my absence?" she asked. To utter those words required all her self-control. She knew in what an awkward position she was now placing herself.
"Well, you seem to regard very lightly all the anxiety you have caused me, my child," protested Griffin sharply.
"I am very sorry--truly sorry, dear dad," was the pale-faced girl's reply, "but my silence really was not my own fault."
"At least you might be frank with us now, Gwen!" declared her lover.
"You surely have nothing to hide!"
"Nothing whatever," she said, smiling bitterly, "only I am, for certain reasons, compelled to regard my recent whereabouts as a secret."
"Why?"
She was silent. What could she say! What indeed? The man Mullet, who had been her protector, and who had treated her with such kindness and consideration, making her confinement much the less irksome than it would have been; the man who had stood between her and her brutal, red-faced inquisitor, and who, just at the moment when a grave peril threatened her, had opened the door and allowed her to escape, and laid upon her a solemn vow of secrecy. His words rang distinctly in her ears: "Remember, Miss Griffin, if you tell your friends what has happened to you it will result in my ruin. Our enemies will avenge themselves by giving me over to the police. Therefore, I beg of you to remain silent--at all hazards--for my sake!" And she had promised.
Could she break that pledge, given to the man who had saved her from shame and dishonour?
By her hesitation, grave suspicions had gathered within the minds of both her father and her lover. Ignorant of the true facts, they both misjudged her.
Frank's quick jealousy had been fired by her determination not to make explanation. Yet he had tried to suppress the bitter thoughts growing within him, hoping that it was her father's presence which prevented her from telling him in confidence what had occurred.
"I cannot see why you should make such a great mystery of the affair, my dear child," remarked the Professor, clearly annoyed.
"Well," and she laughed nervously, "perhaps I may tell you something some day, dad. But please excuse me now, dear. I--I'm tired and--and very upset."
The old man recognised from her pale, hard-drawn features that she was not herself. Her highly strung nerves were at their greatest tension.
And, perhaps, after all, he thought, it was injudicious of him to submit her to that cross-examination in Frank's presence.
Indeed, both men desired to speak with her alone, both believing that they would then induce her to tell the truth.
Little did they dream that the truth could never issue from her lips-- that the vow she had made was to a man to whom the exposure meant loss of his liberty.
Her own position was a ghastly one. She had already realised that. She shuddered at the recollection of those hideous insults of that fat, brutal tormentor--and of the fate which he had marked out for her because she would not satisfy him concerning either her father or her lover.
Her sole thought was of "Charlie"--Mr Mullet, or "Red Mullet" as his friends were in the habit of calling him. She smiled at the humour of the appellation. It fitted him so well on account of his red hair and bristly red moustache.
Half an hour later the subject of her absence having by mutual consent, been dropped, the Professor went to his study to write some letters, while Gwen and her lover strolled into the big drawing-room, gaunt and cheerless without a fire.
When they were alone he took her white, trembling hand, and, looking steadily into her eyes, begged her to afford him the satisfaction of knowing the truth about her absence.
She had been dreading that moment, and she only shook her head.
"But, dearest!" he urged, "surely I have a right to know!"
"I thought you said only the day before your departure for Copenhagen that you could always trust me, Frank," she answered, in a voice full of quiet reproach.
"I said so, I admit. But almost immediately I had gone it seems that you slipped out of the house without a word, and have only just returned. You will make no explanation, therefore what am I to think?
What can I think!"
"You must think as evil of me as you may, Frank," was the girl's calm reply.
"No, no," he cried. "Come darling, tell me all about it--in confidence.
I won't say a word to any living soul."
"I cannot tell you," was her faint response, standing rigid, with her eyes fixed straight before her. "Please do not ask me again."
"Do you refuse, even me?"
"Yes, Frank--even you."
He was silent. What ugly incident could she have to hide from him? He knew that before their first meeting she had, like many a young and pretty girl, been a sad flirt; that men had hovered about her continually, attracted by her sweet beauty and charming daintiness. He was not her first love. On the contrary, she had more than one little serious affair of the heart; first with a young Italian officer of infantry at Florence, where she had spent a winter with her father, and again with the son of a north country ironmaster while staying at the Empire at Buxton. She had confessed to those, and others. Indeed, hitherto she had never withheld from him any secret concerning her past.
Therefore, why should she now refuse to give any account of her mysterious absence!
He was puzzled--puzzled by her attitude and puzzled by her determination to evade his questions. And, as was but natural, there sprang up in his breast the burning fire of jealousy.
The amazing, horrifying thought occurred to him that she, the sweet-faced girl he loved with his whole heart and soul, had, while he had been absent abroad, met some secret lover, an old "flame" most probably, believing that she could excuse herself to her indulgent father and induce him to make no mention of the affair to him upon his return. He, however, had returned to London a day too early--returned to learn the bitter and astounding truth.
Time after time, still holding her tiny white hand in his, and looking into those dark timid eyes, he urged her to give him some satisfaction.
But she steadily refused, declaring:
"I am unable, Frank. And even if I were able, you would never believe me--never!"
"Why are you unable?" he inquired, suspiciously.
"Because secrecy has been imposed upon me."
"By one who is in fear of certain consequences--eh?" he asked furiously.
"Yes," was her faltering response.
"Then is it not right that I, your future husband, should be acquainted with what has occurred, Gwen?" he demanded quickly. "By your silence, you are only arousing suspicions within me that may be cruel and unjust towards you."
"I regret, Frank, that it must remain so. I have given a pledge that I cannot break--even at your request."
"Ah! then your love for me is not so strong as I believed it to be!" he cried reproachfully, letting her hand drop. "How many times have you placed your arms about my neck and declared your affection for me?" he asked bitterly.
"I do love you, Frank--I swear I love you as much as I have always done!" she cried wildly, stretching forth her arms to him in her despair.