MAJOR FITZ-DAVID'S visitor proved to be a plump, round-eyedoverdressed girl, with a florid complexion and straw coloredhair. After first fixing on me a broad stare of astonishment, shepointedly addressed her apologies for intruding on us to theMajor alone. The creature evidently believed me to be the lastnew object of the old gentleman's idolatry; and she took no painsto disguise her jealous resentment on discovering us together.Major Fitz-David set matters right in his own irresistible way.He kissed the hand of the overdressed girl as devotedly as he hadkissed mine; he told her she was looking charmingly. Then he ledher, with his happy mixture of admiration and respect, back tothe door by which she had entered--a second door communicatingdirectly with the hall.

"No apology is necessary, my dear," he said. "This lady is withme on a matter of business. You will find your singing-masterwaiting for you upstairs. Begin your lesson; and I will join youin a few minutes. _Au revoir_, my charming pupil--_au revoir._"

The young lady answered this polite little speech in awhisper--with her round eyes fixed distrustfully on me while shespoke. The door closed on her. Major Fitz-David was a t libertyto set matters right with me, in my turn.

"I call that young person one of my happy discoveries;" said theold gentleman, complacently. "She possesses, I don't hesitate tosay, the finest soprano voice in Europe. Would you believe it, Imet with her at the railway station. She was behind the counterin a refreshment-room, poor innocent, rinsing wine-glasses, andsinging over her work. Good Heavens, such singing! Her uppernotes electrified me. I said to myself; 'Here is a born primadonna--I will bring her out!' She is the third I have brought outin my time. I shall take her to Italy when her education issufficiently advanced, and perfect her at Milan. In thatunsophisticated girl, my dear lady, you see one of the futureQueens of Song. Listen! She is beginning her scales. What avoice! Brava! Brava! Bravissima!"

The high soprano notes of the future Queen of Song rang throughthe house as he spoke. Of the loudness of the young lady's voicethere could be no sort of doubt. The sweetness and the purity ofit admitted, in my opinion, of considerable dispute.

Having said the polite words which the occasion renderednecessary, I ventured to recall Major Fitz-David to the subjectin discussion between us when his visitor had entered the room.The Major was very unwilling to return to the perilous topic onwhich we had just touched when the interruption occurred. He beattime with his forefinger to the singing upstairs; he asked meabout _my_ voice, and whether I sang; he remarked that life wouldbe intolerable to him without Love and Art. A man in my placewould have lost all patience, and would have given up thestruggle in disgust. Being a woman, and having my end in view, myresolution was invincible. I fairly wore out the Major'sresistance, and compelled him to surrender at discretion. It isonly justice to add that, when he did make up his mind to speakto me again of Eustace, he spoke frankly, and spoke to the point.

"I have known your husband," he began, "since the time when hewas a boy. At a certain period of his past life a terriblemisfortune fell upon him. The secret of that misfortune is knownto his friends, and is religiously kept by his friends. It is thesecret that he is keeping from You. He will never tell it to youas long as he lives. And he has bound _me_ not to tell it, undera promise given on my word of honor. You wished, dear Mrs.Woodville, to be made acquainted with my position toward Eustace.There it is!"

"You persist in calling me Mrs. Woodville," I said.

"Your husband wishes me to persist," the Major answered. "Heassumed the name of Woodville, fearing to give his own name, whenhe first called at your uncle's house. He will now acknowledge noother. Remonstrance is useless. You must do what we do--you mustgive way to an unreasonable man. The best fellow in the world inother respects: in this one matter as obstinate and self-willedas he can be. If you ask me my opinion, I tell you honestly thatI think he was wrong in courting and marrying you under his falsename. He trusted his honor and his happiness to your keeping inmaking you his--wife. Why should he not trust the story of histroubles to you as well? His mother quite shares my opinion inthis matter. You must not blame her for refusing to admit youinto her confidence after your marriage: it was then too late.Before your marriage she did all she could do--without betrayingsecrets which, as a good mother, she was bound to respect--toinduce her son to act justly toward you. I commit no indiscretionwhen I tell you that she refused to sanction your marriage mainlyfor the reason that Eustace refused to follow her advice, and totell you what his position really was. On my part I did all Icould to support Mrs. Macallan in the course that she took. WhenEustace wrote to tell me that he had engaged himself to marry aniece of my good friend Doctor Starkweather, and that he hadmentioned me as his reference, I wrote back to warn him that Iwould have nothing to do with the affair unless he revealed thewhole truth about himself to his future wife. He refused tolisten to me, as he had refused to listen to his mother; and heheld me at the same time to my promise to keep his secret. WhenStarkweather wrote to me, I had no choice but to involve myselfin a deception of which I thoroughly disapproved, or to answer ina tone so guarded and so brief as to stop the correspondence atthe outset. I chose the last alternative; and I fear I haveoffended my good old friend. You now see the painful position inwhich I am placed. To add to the difficulties of that situation,Eustace came here this very day to warn me to be on my guard, incase of your addressing to me the very request which you havejust made! He told me that you had met with his mother, by anunlucky accident, and that you had discovered the family name. Hedeclared that he had traveled to London for the express purposeof speaking to me personally on this serious subject. 'I knowyour weakness,' he said, 'where women are concerned. Valeria isaware that you are my old friend. She will certainly write toyou; she may even be bold enough to make her way into your house.Renew your promise to keep the great calamity of my life asecret, on your honor and on your oath. 'Those were his words, asnearly as I can remember them. I tried to treat the thinglightly; I ridiculed the absurdly theatrical notion of 'renewingmy promise,' and all the rest of it. Quite useless! He refused toleave me; he reminded me of his unmerited sufferings, poorfellow, in the past time. It ended in his bursting into tears.You love him, and so do I. Can you wonder that I let him have hisway? The result is that I am doubly bound to tell you nothing, bythe most sacred promise that a man can give. My dear lady, Icordially side with you in this matter; I long to relieve youranxieties. But what can I do?"

He stopped, and waited--gravely waited--to hear my reply.

I had listened from beginning to end without interrupting him.The extraordinary change in his manner, and in his way ofexpressing himself, while he was speaking of Eustace, alarmed meas nothing had alarmed me yet. How terrible (I thought to myself)must this untold story be, if the mere act of referring to itmakes light-hearted Major Fitz-David speak seriously and sadly,never smiling, never paying me a compliment, never even noticingthe singing upstairs! My heart sank in me as I drew thatstartling conclusion. For the first time since I had entered thehouse I was at the end of my resources; I knew neither what tosay nor what to do next.

And yet I kept my seat. Never had the resolution to discover whatmy husband was hiding from me been more firmly rooted in my mindthan it was at that moment! I cannot account for theextraordinary inconsistency in my character which this confessionimplies. I can only describe the facts as they really were.

The singing went on upstairs. Major Fitz-David still waitedimpenetrably to hear what I had to say--to know what I resolvedon doing next.

Before I had decided what to say or what to do, another domesticincident happened. In plain words, another knocking announced anew visitor at the house door. On this occasion there was norustling of a woman's dress in the hall. On this occasion onlythe old servant entered the room, carrying a magnificent nosegayin his hand. "With Lady Clarinda's kind regards. To remind MajorFitz-David of his appointment." Another lady! This time a ladywith a title. A great lady who sent her flowers and her messageswithout condescending to concealment. The Major--firstapologizing to me--wrote a few lines of acknowledgment, and sentthem out to the messenger. When the door was closed again hecarefully selected one of the choicest flowers in the nosegay."May I ask," he said, presenting the flower to me with his bestgrace, "whether you now understand the delicate position in whichI am placed between your husband and yourself?"

The little interruption caused by the appearance of the nosegayhad given a new impulse to my thoughts, and had thus helped, insome degree, to r estore me to myself. I was able at last tosatisfy Major Fitz-David that his considerate and courteousexplanation had not been thrown away upon me.

"I thank you, most sincerely, Major," I said "You have convincedme that I must not ask you to forget, on my account, the promisewhich you have given to my husband. It is a sacred promise, whichI too am bound to respect--I quite understand that."

The Major drew a long breath of relief, and patted me on theshoulder in high approval of what I had said to him.

"Admirably expressed!" he rejoined, recovering his light-heartedlooks and his lover-like ways all in a moment. "My dear lady, youhave the gift of sympathy; you see exactly how I am situated. Doyou know, you remind me of my charming Lady Clarinda. _She_ hasthe gift of sympathy, and sees exactly how I am situated. Ishould so enjoy introducing you to each other," said the Major,plunging his long nose ecstatically into Lady Clarinda's flowers.

I had my end still to gain; and, being (as you will havediscovered by this time) the most obstinate of living women, Istill kept that end in view.

"I shall be delighted to meet Lady Clarinda," I replied. "In themeantime--"

"I will get up a little dinner," proceeded the Major, with aburst of enthusiasm. "You and I and Lady Clarinda. Our youngprima donna shall come in the evening, and sing to us. Suppose wedraw out the _menu?_ My sweet friend, what is your favoriteautumn soup?"

"In the meantime," I persisted, "to return to what we werespeaking of just now--"

The Major's smile vanished; the Major's hand dropped the pendestined to immortalize the name of my favorite autumn soup.

"_Must_ we return to that?" he asked, piteously.

"Only for a moment," I said.

"You remind me," pursued Major Fitz-David, shaking his headsadly, "of another charming friend of mine--a Frenchfriend--Madame Mirliflore. You are a person of prodigioustenacity of purpose. Madame Mirliflore is a person of prodigioustenacity of purpose. She happens to be in London. Shall we haveher at our little dinner?" The Major brightened at the idea, andtook up the pen again. "Do tell me," he said, "what _is_ yourfavorite autumn soup?"

"Pardon me," I began, "we were speaking just now--"

"Oh, dear me!" cried Major Fitz-David. "Is this the othersubject?"

"Yes--this is the other subject."

The Major put down his pen for the second time, and regretfullydismissed from his mind Madame Mirliflore and the autumn soup.

"Yes?" he said, with a patient bow and a submissive smile. "Youwere going to say--"

"I was going to say," I rejoined, "that your promise only pledgesyou not to tell the secret which my husband is keeping from me.You have given no promise not to answer me if I venture to askyou one or two questions."

Major Fitz-David held up his hand warningly, and cast a sly lookat me out of his bright little gray eyes.

"Stop!" he said. "My sweet friend, stop there! I know where yourquestions will lead me, and what the result will be if I oncebegin to answer them. When your husband was here to-day he tookoccasion to remind me that I was as weak as water in the hands ofa pretty woman. He is quite right. I _am_ as weak as water; I canrefuse nothing to a pretty woman. Dear and admirable lady, don'tabuse your influence! don't make an old soldier false to his wordof honor!"

I tried to say something here in defense of my motives. The Majorclasped his hands entreatingly, and looked at me with a pleadingsimplicity wonderful to see.

"Why press it?" he asked. "I offer no resistance. I am alamb--why sacrifice me? I acknowledge your power; I throw myselfon your mercy. All the misfortunes of my youth and my manhoodhave come to me through women. I am not a bit better in my age--Iam just as fond of the women and just as ready to be misled bythem as ever, with one foot in the grave. Shocking, isn't it? Buthow true! Look at this mark!" He lifted a curl of his beautifulbrown wig, and showed me a terrible scar at the side of his head."That wound (supposed to be mortal at the time) was made by apistol bullet," he proceeded. "Not received in the service of mycountry--oh dear, no! Received in the service of a much-injuredlady, at the hands of her scoundrel of a husband, in a duelabroad. Well, she was worth it." He kissed his handaffectionately to the memory of the dead or absent lady, andpointed to a water-color drawing of a pretty country-househanging on the opposite wall. "That fine estate," he proceeded,"once belonged to me. It was sold years and years since. And whohad the money? The women--God bless them all!--the women. I don'tregret it. If I had another estate, I have no doubt it would gothe same way. Your adorable sex has made its pretty playthings ofmy life, my time, and my money--and welcome! The one thing I havekept to myself is my honor. And now _that_ is in danger. Yes, ifyou put your clever little questions, with those lovely eyes andwith that gentle voice, I know what will happen. You will depriveme of the last and best of all my possessions. Have I deserved tobe treated in that way, and by you, my charming friend?--by you,of all people in the world? Oh, fie! fie!"

He paused and looked at me as before--the picture of artlessentreaty, with his head a little on one side. I made anotherattempt to speak of the matter in dispute between us, from my ownpoint of view. Major Fitz-David instantly threw himself prostrateon my mercy more innocently than ever.

"Ask of me anything else in the wide world," he said; "but don'task me to be false to my friend. Spare me _that_--and there isnothing I will not do to satisfy you. I mean what I say, mind!"he went on, bending closer to me, and speaking more seriouslythan he had spoken yet "I think you are very hardly used. It ismonstrous to expect that a woman, placed in your situation, willconsent to be left for the rest of her life in the dark. No! no!if I saw you, at this moment, on the point of finding out foryourself what Eustace persists in hiding from you, I shouldremember that my promise, like all other promises, has its limitsand reserves. I should consider myself bound in honor not to helpyou--but I would not lift a finger to prevent you fromdiscovering the truth for yourself."

At last he was speaking in good earnest: he laid a strongemphasis on his closing words. I laid a stronger emphasis on themstill by suddenly leaving my chair. The impulse to spring to myfeet was irresistible. Major Fitz-David had started a new idea inmy mind.

"Now we understand each other!" I said. "I will accept your ownterms, Major. I will ask nothing of you but what you have justoffered to me of your own accord."

"What have I offered?" he inquired, looking a little alarmed.

"Nothing that you need repent of," I answered; "nothing which isnot easy for you to grant. May I ask a bold question? Supposethis house was mine instead of yours?"

"Consider it yours," cried the gallant old gentleman. "From thegarret to the kitchen, consider it yours!"

"A thousand thanks, Major; I will consider it mine for themoment. You know--everybody knows--that one of a woman's manyweaknesses is curiosity. Suppose my curiosity led me to examineeverything in my new house?"

"Yes?"

"Suppose I went from room to room, and searched everything, andpeeped in everywhere? Do you think there would be any chance--"

The quick-witted Major anticipated the nature of my question. Hefollowed my example; he too started to his feet, with a new ideain his mind.

"Would there be any chance," I went on, "of my finding my own wayto my husband's secret in this house? One word of reply, MajorFitz-David! Only one word--Yes or No?"

"Don't excite yourself!" cried the Major.

"Yes or No?" I repeated, more vehemently than ever.

"Yes," said the Major, after a moment's consideration.

It was the reply I had asked for; but it was not explicit enough,now I had got it, to satisfy me. I felt the necessity of leadinghim (if possible) into details.

"Does 'Yes' mean that there is some sort of clew to the mystery?"I asked. "Something, for instance, which my eyes might see and myhands mig ht touch if I could only find it?"

He considered again. I saw that I had succeeded in interestinghim in some way unknown to myself; and I waited patiently untilhe was prepared to answer me.

"The thing you mention," he said, "the clew (as you call it),might be seen and might be touched--supposing you could find it."

"In this house?" I asked.

The Major advanced a step nearer to me, and answered--

"In this room."

My head began to swim; my heart throbbed violently. I tried tospeak; it was in vain; the effort almost choked me. In thesilence I could hear the music-lesson still going on in the roomabove. The future prima donna had done practicing her scales, andwas trying her voice now in selections from Italian operas. Atthe moment when I first heard her she was singing the beautifulair from the _Somnambula,_ "Come per me sereno." I never hearthat delicious melody, to this day, without being instantlytransported in imagination to the fatal back-room in VivianPlace.

The Major--strongly affected himself by this time--was the firstto break the silence.

"Sit down again," he said; "and pray take the easy-chair. You arevery much agitated; you want rest."

He was right. I could stand no longer; I dropped into the chair.Major Fitz-David rang the bell, and spoke a few words to theservant at the door.

"I have been here a long time," I said, faintly. "Tell me if I amin the way."

"In the way?" he repeated, with his irresistible smile. "Youforget that you are in your own house!"

The servant returned to us, bringing with him a tiny bottle ofchampagne and a plateful of delicate little sugared biscuits.

"I have had this wine bottled expressly for the ladies," said theMajor. "The biscuits came to me direct from Paris. As a favor to_me,_ you must take some refreshment. And then--" He stopped andlooked at me very attentively. "And then," he resumed, "shall Igo to my young prima donna upstairs and leave you here alone?"

It was impossible to hint more delicately at the one requestwhich I now had it in my mind to make to him. I took his hand andpressed it gratefully.

"The tranquillity of my whole life to come is at stake," I said."When I am left here by myself, does your generous sympathypermit me to examine everything in the room?"

He signed to me to drink the champagne and eat a biscuit beforehe gave his answer.

"This is serious," he said. "I wish you to be in perfectpossession of yourself . Restore your strength--and then I willspeak to you."

I did as he bade me. In a minute from the time when I drank itthe delicious sparkling wine had begun to revive me.

"Is it your express wish," he resumed, "that I should leave youhere by yourself to search the room?"

"It is my express wish," I answered.

"I take a heavy responsibility on myself in granting yourrequest. But I grant it for all that, because I sincerelybelieve--as you believe--that the tranquillity of your life tocome depends on your discovering the truth." Saying those words,he took two keys from his pocket. "You will naturally feel asuspicion," he went on, "of any locked doors that you may findhere. The only locked places in the room are the doors of thecupboards under the long book-case, and the door of the Italiancabinet in that corner. The small key opens the book-casecupboards; the long key opens the cabinet door."

With that explanation, he laid the keys before me on the table.

"Thus far," he said, "I have rigidly respected the promise whichI made to your husband. I shall continue to be faithful to mypromise, whatever may be the result of your examination of theroom. I am bound in honor not to assist you by word or deed. I amnot even at liberty to offer you the slightest hint. Is thatunderstood?"

"Certainly!"

"Very good. I have now a last word of warning to give you--andthen I have done. If you do by any chance succeed in laying yourhand on the clew, remember this--_the discovery which followswill be a terrible one._ If you have any doubt about yourcapacity to sustain a shock which will strike you to the soul,for God's sake give up the idea of finding out your husband'ssecret at once and forever!"

"I thank you for your warning, Major. I must face theconsequences of making the discovery, whatever they may be."

"You are positively resolved?"

"Positively."

"Very well. Take any time you please. The house, and every personin it, are at your disposal. Ring the bell once if you want theman-servant. Ring twice if you wish the housemaid to wait on you.From time to time I shall just look in myself to see how you aregoing on. I am responsible for your comfort and security, youknow, while you honor me by remaining under my roof."

He lifted my hand to his lips, and fixed a last attentive look onme.

"I hope I am not running too great a risk," he said--more tohimself than to me. "The women have led me into many a rashaction in my time. Have _you_ led me, I wonder, into the rashestaction of all?"

With those ominous last words he bowed gravely and left me alonein the room.