"It was Davenport's wish that the matter should remain the closest
secret. You don't know how earnestly he wished that."
"Surely Davenport's wishes can't be endangered through _my_ knowledge of
any secret," Florence replied, with so much sad affection that Turl was
again visibly moved. "But for the misunderstanding which kept us apart,
he would not have had this secret from me. And to think!--he disappeared
the very day Mr. Larcher was to enlighten him. It was cruel! And now you
would keep from me the knowledge of what became of him. I have learned
too well that fate is pitiless; and I find that men are no less so."
Turl's face was a study, showing the play of various reflections. Finally
his ideas seemed to be resolved. "Are we likely to be interrupted here?"
he asked, in a tone of surrender.
"No; I have guarded against that," said Florence, eagerly.
"Then I'll tell you Davenport's story. But you must be patient, and let
me tell it in my own way, and you must promise--all three--never to
reveal it; you'll find no reason in it for divulging it, and great
reason for keeping it secret."
On that condition the promise was given, and Turl, having taken a
moment's preliminary thought, began his account.
CHAPTER XIV.
A STRANGE DESIGN
"Perhaps," said Turl, addressing particularly Florence, "you know already
what was Murray Davenport's state of mind during the months immediately
before his disappearance. Bad luck was said to attend him, and to fall on
enterprises he became associated with.
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