"Ill at ease, Emily;—very ill at ease! A sore heart will make the face thin, as well as fever or ague. Since we parted I have not had much to comfort me."
"Nor have I,—nor any of us," said she. "How was comfort to come from such a parting?"
Then they both stood silent together. He was still holding her by the hand, but she was careful not to return his pressure. She would not take her hand away from him; but she would show him no sign of softness till he should have absolutely acquitted her of the accusation he had made against her. "We are man and wife," he said after awhile. "In spite of all that has come and gone I am yours, and you are mine."
"You should have remembered that always, Louis."
"I have never forgotten it,—never. In no thought have I been untrue to you. My heart has never changed since first I gave it you." There came a bitter frown upon her face, of which she was so conscious herself, that she turned her face away from him. She still remembered her lesson, that she was not to anger him, and, therefore, she refrained from answering him at all. But the answer was there, hot within her bosom. Had he loved her,—and yet suspected that she was false to him and to her vows, simply because she had been on terms of intimacy with an old friend? Had he loved her, and yet turned her from his house? Had he loved her,—and set a policeman to watch her? Had he loved her, and yet spoken evil of her to all their friends? Had he loved her, and yet striven to rob her of her child? "Will you come to me?" he said.
"I suppose it will be better so," she answered slowly.
"Then you will promise me—" He paused, and attempted to turn her towards him, so that he might look her in the face.
"Promise what?" she said, quickly glancing round at him, and drawing her hand away from him as she did so.
"That all intercourse with Colonel Osborne shall be at an end."
"I will make no promise. You come to me to add one insult to another. Had you been a man, you would not have named him to me after what you have done to me."