I must know whether there was any truth in my suspicions or not.

I hated myself for the task that lay before me, to watch a woman, to seek to entrap her, to play the detective, to seek to discover the secret of one who had so frankly and cordially offered me friendship.
Yet it was equally hateful to know that a bad and wicked woman, branded with sin, stained with murder, had deceived an honest, loyal man like Lance Fleming.

Look which way I would, it was a most cruel dilemma--pity, indignation, wonder, fear, reluctance, all tore at my heart.

Was Frances Fleming the good, pure, tender-hearted woman she seemed to be, or was she the woman branded with a secret brand?
I must find out for Lance's sake.

There were times when intense pity softened my heart, almost moved me to tears; then the recollection of the tiny white baby lying all night in the sea, swaying to and fro with the waves, steeled me.