I should explain that Sir Burnham, placing the repute of his house and
that of his heir above all other considerations (with one possible
exception: the necessity for concealing the appalling truth from his
wife) had consented to make arrangements for the support of Nahemah on
the understanding that her existence was to remain a profound secret
from the world. It was upon this understanding that I leased the Bell
House. And although, in certain wild indiscretions, I had recognized
in Nahemah the symptoms of revolt against such a monastic existence,
because of absorption in my new studies I had not realized how deep
was her resentment of this enforced anonymity. Certainly I had never
grasped the power and the depth of her hatred of her brother, Roger
Coverly.
Now, on this fateful night, in one of the semi-insane outbursts which
I had learned to dread, she poured out her loathing and detestation of
her brother. She was a Coverly (such was the gist of her plaint) and
the doors of Friar's Park were closed to her; the world knew nothing
of her existence. In the event of the death of Sir Burnham, then Roger
would inherit the property, and complete disaster would be our lot.
To condense the purport of her demand, it was this: that I should test
the efficacy of my new discovery by removing this objectionable
obstacle from her path!
Of my subsequent behavior I offer no defense. I am not prepared to
admit that I was forced into action by the forceful personality of my
protegee; in fact, I state emphatically that a chance interview with
the heir during one of his visits to Friar's Park led me to regard the
matter in a new light and from a standpoint almost identical with that
of Nahemah.
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