Mention it to Gwendoline--to any one you like, but not to me." He strides towards the doorway.

He has almost turned the corner.
"Thaddeus!" cries a small, but frantic voice.

If dying he would hear that and turn.

She is holding out her hands to him, the tears are running down her lovely cheeks.
"It is to you--to _you_ I would tell his name," sobs she, as he returns slowly, unwillingly, but _surely,_ to her.

"To you alone." "To me! Go on," says Curzon; "let me hear it.