“Marry her! Woman, I wonder the heart does not sicken in your bosom at the thought.”
“It does! it does! Then you never thought of it. I had not wronged you so deeply that you meditated that awful blow, that wicked, wicked crime.”
“I never thought of it, Elizabeth!”
The woman clasped her hands, and a wild sob heaved her bosom.
“Still you loved her! Ah, me! it was only the impediment! If I were dead, now!”
The woman held out her clasped hands, and her face was wet with a rain of tears. For the first time, a look of almost yearning tenderness filled the sad eyes bent upon her, and a touch of compassion quivered in the man’s voice.
“Sit down, Elizabeth. I have a few questions to ask, and for once you and I must have truth between us.”
Mrs. Lambert dropped to the sofa, near which she stood, and Ross drew his chair in front of it. The curtains hung low, and the light fell dimly around them, so dimly that they seemed like ghosts questioning each other.
“Elizabeth, when we first met, and I found you Lambert’s widow, there was too much of passion and reproach in our interview for a clear understanding of events, which seem to me vague and unsatisfactory. Quiet yourself, now; be calm, if that is possible, and let us thoroughly understand each other.”
The woman made a strong effort, and hushed her sobs.