Morton bowed. The old lady looked blankly at him.
She continued to stare at him, and then held out her trumpet. Morton took it, and repeated his words into its depths.
"Oh yes," she said, intelligence breaking over her face. "Morton--Mr. Morton, from the Globe office. Where's the other? There were to have been two. Just take care of yourself, please, for a moment. I have to go and see about something."
She tottered out of the room, and Morton, turning, confronted me. He saw that I had overheard all. Before I could speak he came toward me with an air of desperation.
"For Heaven's sake don't betray me, Valentine, now that you know my secret," he exclaimed. "I have felt from the first that you suspected--that I was in your power. I throw myself on your mercy. In your safe and prosperous condition you don't know--you can't know--what a frightful position I am in."
My face must have changed in some ghastly manner as he spoke, for he stopped and looked at me with deepening consternation.
"What is it? What's the matter?" he asked.
I saw my mistake, and tried to look unconcerned, but at that moment the old lady came back into the room.
"Oh, there's the other," she said, as she saw me. "His name's Valentine, so that's all right."
Several people came into the room, and she went forward to greet them. Morton looked at me in dazed silence for a minute; then he seemed to master his astonishment by a mighty effort.
"So," he said, huskily, "we are quits. I am in your power, but you are equally in mine. Be careful how you interfere with me."
We did not speak again together during the evening. What is to be the end of this? To-morrow I go to see Miss Courtland, and I have made up my mind to confess everything. Perhaps she will think no worse of me. The queen still loved Ruy Blas after she found he was a lackey.
_February 23d._--The game is up. I went this afternoon to Mr. Courtland's house, and found Miss Courtland at home, alone. She was in a dim little room, with the firelight nickering on her beautiful face. She saw that I was constrained and anxious, and at once asked me the reason. Something in her kind manner broke down my composure.
"Miss Courtland," I said, "how would you feel if I were to confess that I have been deceiving you--that I am not what I seem to be?"