And she was left with nothing because she asked nothing--wanted nothing.
The obviousness of this, when he had ended his questioning and exhausted his resources, was a staggering thing.
"Do you know," he said grimly, after it was all over, "-- that no one will believe you ?" "Donal knew," she said.

"There is no one--no one else." "You mean that there is no one whose belief or disbelief would affect you ?" The Wood was growing darker still and she had ceased crying and sat still like a small ghost in the dim light.
"There never _was_ any one but Donal, you know," she said.

To all the rest of the world she was as a creature utterly unawake and to a man who was of the world and who had lived a long life in it the contemplation of her was a strange and baffling thing.
"You do not ask whether _I_ believe you ?" he spoke quite low.
The silence of the darkening wood was unearthly and her dropped word scarcely stirred it.
"No." She had never even thought of it.
He himself was inwardly shaken by his own feeling.
"I will believe you if--you will believe me," was what he said, a singular sharp new desire impelling him.
She merely lifted her face a little so that her eyes rested upon him.
"Because of this tragic thing you must believe me.

It will be necessary that you should.

What you have thought of me with regard to your mother is not true.