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 here under false colours—it seemed to me that I ought to tell you all my story. I've meant to do it, many a time, but one thing or another stopped me. At first when I found what a comfortable home I'd got here I was afraid to speak, because—well, I won't say why, now, because I was quite wrong. Afterwards I was on the point of speaking more than once, and then it seemed that it might be presumption on my part to trouble you with my affairs. But now that you have said what you have, I think I should like to tell you my story—that is, if you'll listen to it."

Hepworth raised his head and looked at her. His face was wan and haggard in the lamp-light; it seemed to her that he had suddenly aged.

"Tell me, Elisabeth," he said. "Tell me whatever you choose. I am your friend, remember, and if I can do anything to help you I will."

"I am sure of that," she said, "but there's