"It is very, very brave of you to tell us
this, Mrs. Camber."
"Yes? Do you think so?" asked the girl, simply. "What does it matter if
it can help Colin?
"This aunt of mine," she presently continued, "was a poor woman, and it
was while I was hiding in her house--because spies of Senor Menendez
were searching for me--that I met--my husband. He was studying in Cuba
the strange things he writes about, you see. And before I knew what had
happened--I found I loved him more than all else in the world. It is so
wonderful, that feeling," she said, looking across at Val Beverley. "Do
you know?"
The girl flushed deeply, and lowered her eyes, but made no reply.
"Because you are a woman, too, you will perhaps understand," she
resumed. "I did not tell him. I did not dare to tell him at first. I
was so madly happy I had no courage to speak. But when"--her voice sank
lower and lower--"he asked me to marry him, I told him. Nothing he
could ever do would change my love for him now, because he forgave me
and made me his wife."
I feared that at last she was going to break down, for her voice became
very tremulous and tears leapt again into her eyes.
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