Allan--for God's sake be honest this instant--my poor head is whirling
with all the lies! Let me feel there is truth somewhere. Listen. I swear
I'll stay by it, wherever it takes me--here or away from here--but I
must have it. Oh, Allan, if it should be in you, after all--Allan! dear,
_dear_--Oh! I do see it now--you _can't_ deceive--you _can't_ deceive!"

Slowly at first his head bent under her words, bent in cowardly evasion
of her sharp glance, the sidelong shiftings of his eyes portraying him,
the generous liar, brought at last to bay by his own honest clumsiness.
Then, as her appeal grew warmer, tenderer, more insistent, the fine head
was suddenly erected and proud confession was written plainly over the
glowing face--that beautiful contrition of one who has willed to bear a
brother's shame and failed from lack of genius in the devious ways of
deceit.

Now he stood nobly from his chair and she was up with a little loving
rush to his arms. Then, as he would have held her protectingly, she
gently pushed away.

"Don't--don't take me yet, dear--I should be crying in another
moment--I'm so--so _beaten_--and I want not to cry till I've told you,
oh, so many things! Sit again and let us talk calmly first. Now
why--_why_ did you pretend this wretched thing?"

He faced her proudly, with the big, honest, clumsy dignity of a rugged
man--and there was a loving quiet in his tones that touched her
ineffably.

"Poor Bernal had told me his--his _contretemps_. The rest is simple. He
is my brother. The last I remember of our mother is her straining me to