He was given up by the doctors, they thought he might die any
day--in such a case one gives oneself is one would offer him a cup
of tisane--the action of a Good Samaritan."
"Your defense," he said grimly, as he freed himself from her grasp,
"is far worse than any reproach I might bring against you. You never
loved him? Your heart had no part in this childish folly? That makes
it all the uglier--then it becomes unpardonable. Love alone could
extenuate such a fault to some degree."
He turned to leave the room, but she threw herself upon him and
clung to him.
"You are right--quite right, darling," her voice half-choked with
terror and excitement; "but forgive me--forgive me for the sake of
my love to you. That story belongs to the past, and the past is
buried--buried forever. I cannot believe myself that it is not all a
hideous dream--that it should be really true! It was not I--it was
another woman, a stranger whom I do not know--with whom I have
nothing in common. I was not alive then--I have only lived since you
were mine. Oh, why did you come so late?" And her wild, passionate
words sank into heartrending sobs.
He could not but be sorry for her. Was it wise, was it fitting to
rake up the past? Had he any right to call her to account for faults
which were not committed against him? She was good and pure now.
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