“Yes,” she said, with the sudden desperation of weakness; “I want you to keep a secret.”
“Yours?—yes!” he said promptly.
Whereat poor Mrs. Wade instantly burst into tears. Then, amidst her sobs, she told him of the stranger’s visit, of his terrible accusations, of his demands, his expected return, and her own utter helplessness. To her terror, as she went on she saw a singular change in his kind face; he was following her with hard, eager intensity. She had half hoped, even through her fateful instincts, that he might have laughed, manlike, at her fears, or pooh-poohed the whole thing. But he did not. “You say he positively recognized your husband?” he repeated quickly.
“Yes, yes!” sobbed the widow, “and knew that daguerreotype!” she pointed to the desk.
Brooks turned quickly in that d
