“‘In your sleep, a moment since,’ I answered; ‘tell me about him, I must know!’ She looked at me wildly, but did not answer. ‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘do you love this man?’
“‘Better than my life!—better than my own soul!’ she answered, lifting her clasped hands to heaven.
“‘And he—did he love you?’
“I asked the question faintly, my lips were cold, my heart in an agony of suspense. She turned her eyes upon me—those beautiful blue eyes—full of tears that glittered painfully before my sight.
“‘Love me? yes, I am sure he does—sure as I am of my life.’
“I tightened the grip of my hand upon her arm, for agony made me strong, and I was unconscious of the cruelty, till she shrunk away quivering from my touch.
“‘Then God help you, and forgive him!’ I said. She did not speak, but cowered down in her cot, with a low moan, as if my words had wounded her to death. At last she said to me timidly, for my wild anguish had frightened her.
“‘Why do you speak in this way? God is over all, and he knows there is nothing to forgive.’
“I remembered my promise then. No wrong that you could inflict, would absolve me from that. It was on my lips to say this man is my husband, but I drew the bitter truth back into my heart, where it shall lie buried forever.
“I answered her question vaguely, saying that I did not think any good man would have permitted her to come there.