“I would welcome it, if my sorrow could give you peace,” exclaimed Io. “Mine own, my beloved, tell me all; let me judge—let your Io judge whether there is anything too painful for her to suffer, if she can only help to remove from her Oscar this secret, terrible pain.It is my desire—my entreaty—my right—at least to judge for myself.”
“Judge then, for you shall know all. I will hide nothing, even if confession should rob me of my most precious possession—your affection,” said Oscar gloomily, motioning to Io to sit down on the large trunk, and then taking his place at her side. Io would have rested her head on her husband’s breast, but he made a movement to prevent her so doing. “Not now, not now,” murmured Oscar; “wait till you have heard all.”
Io waited for several minutes till Oscar should break the silence which followed. She felt somewhat as a wretch condemned to be blown from a cannon might feel while awaiting the fatal explosion. When Oscar spoke at last it was with rapid utterance, as if to shorten suspense and pain.
“You remember our happiness at the time of our engagement—happiness almost perfect, till one day I showed petulance, and cost you the first tears which I ever saw you shed.”
“Yes,” replied Io sadly: “you were annoyed when Walter climbed higher than yourself to bring a flower from a very steep place, and I was foolish enough to put the flower in my hair. I was a silly, vain child,” she added humbly. “It was new to me to be loved as you loved me; I am afraid that I liked to tease, and show my power by playing with your feelings.”
“A woman who does so plays with edge-tools,” muttered Oscar.
“But all was set right at once,” cried Io. “I convinced you that I had never loved any man but yourself; that I merely amused myself with poor Walter because he was my cousin, brought up in the same nursery, and I liked his fun and his practical jokes. Surely I quite convinced you, Oscar?”
“You did convince me, Io. I saw that I had been a jealous, unreasonable fool. You and I were happy once more.”
“And it was never possible that my unfortunate cousin could give you a moment’s uneasiness again,” said Io. “He died about the time of your return. Walter had made a foolish bet that he would climb an inaccessible cliff; he failed—fell—and, alas! perished.”
“Walter did not fail, nor fall—till he was thrown down by these accursed hands,” said Oscar abruptly. He dared not look at his wife as he spoke; he could not have met her look of horror.