"I could not do that. But I did not deny what he had said!" and then she told him all that she remembered of her father's words.
"His generosity crushes me to the earth!" said Hubert hoarsely. "I must tell him the whole story, and let him decide."
"He has decided."
"I cannot accept that decision. Since I have been lying here, Cynthia, and since you left me, I have seen it all as it appeared in your eyes. I have wondered at my own cowardice; and I hope—I trust that I have repented of it. It is time that I did, Cynthia, for I believe that I am a dying man."
"No, no!" she cried, clinging to him passionately. "You will get better now—you must get better—for my sake!"
"I wish I could, my darling—I wish I could!"
"Why have you such gloomy thoughts? You are depressed; you have wanted me. I shall soon make you well. I shall take you away from England to some warm bright country where you will have nothing to do but be happy and grow quite strong; and I will take care of you, and make up to you if I can for everything that you have lost."
"Yes, if one had not a conscience," said Hubert, with a faint sad smile, "one could be very happy, could one not? But you forget; you told me before that I must make amends. My darling, there is only one course open to me now."
"Hubert!" She knew by instinct what course he meant to take.
"We are going to have the whole truth told now," he went on softly. "And what a relief it will be! My God, I wonder that I could bear the burden so long! For I have suffered, Cynthia, though not as your father has. I am going now to tell the truth and bear the penalty; there is no other way."