"Tell you--never! Are you not of his blood? You promise--so did he--the smooth-tongued villain! All these years have I lived on promises! Never will I trust one of his race again."
"You have got to trust me whether you want to or not. Your position could not be worse than it is, could it? Don't you see that your only hope lies in being able to persuade me that you are an honest woman?"
For the first time Valdriguez looked at Cyril attentively. He felt as if her great eyes were probing his very soul.
"Indeed, you do not look cruel or deceitful. And, as you say, I am powerless without you, so I must take the risk of your being what you seem. I will tell you the truth. But first, my lord, will you swear not to betray my secret to any living being?"
"You have my word for it. That is--" he hastily added, "if it has nothing to do with the murder."
Cyril waited for her to continue, but for a long time it seemed doubtful if she would have the courage to do so.
"I am looking," she said at last, speaking slowly and with a visible effort, "for a paper which will tell me whether my--son is alive or dead."
"Your son? So you were his Lordship's mistress----"
"Before God I was his wife! I am no wanton, my lord!"
"The old story--" began Cyril, but Valdriguez stopped him with a furious gesture.
"Do not dare to say that my child's mother was a loose woman! I will not permit it. Arthur Wilmersley--may his Maker judge him as he deserves--wrecked my life, but at least he never doubted my virtue. He knew that the only way to get me was to marry me."
"So he actually married you?" exclaimed Cyril.
"No--but for a long time I believed that he had. How could a young, innocent girl have suspected that the man she loved was capable of such cold-blooded deception? Even now, I cannot blame myself for having fallen into the trap he baited with such fiendish cunning. Think of it--he induced me to consent to a secret marriage by promising that if I made this sacrifice for his sake, he would become a convert to my religion--my religion! And as we stood together before the altar, I remember that I thanked God for giving me this opportunity of saving a soul from destruction. I never dreamed that the church he took me to was nothing but an old ruin he had fitted up as a chapel for the occasion. How could I guess that the man who married us was not a priest but a mountebank, whom he had hired to act the part?"