“They call it by some long Latin name; but you and I know what it is.”
“Your father is still in the dark?”
“Yes, it is scarcely worth while to tell him now; no need to worry him for nothing. When I am dead you will forgive me, Laurence, and—and think less hardly of me?”
“You are not dead, or going to die, and I prefer to forgive you when you are alive.”
“And will you—but no, you won’t—you cannot—why should you? I don’t expect it,” she said in hurried gasps. “What can I do now to atone?”
“Get better, get quite well, and I will forgive you everything.”
She laughed, a queer little hollow laugh, and then said—
“How strange that you should be on board. Are you going to Egypt?”
“No—to Sydney.”
“Why? Have you friends there, or business?”