“I will not,” he replied, sternly, “I will keep my oath.”
“Tell me, can no prayers, no pleading, move you from this purpose?”
“None; that which I have sworn I will do at any cost.”
“Give me one hour’s grace, then come to me again. I have something to tell you in one hour. See, I will not leave this spot where I am standing—only one hour.”
“I will obey you,” he said, and, without looking at her face, he quitted the room. What passed there only God and herself knew. Two hours passed before he returned, and he found her where he had left her, the sweet face white and exhausted, but with a look of resignation upon it.
“You have returned,” she said, “and I ought to tremble, for in you I see the messenger of doom and death. Kenelm, I have something to tell you!”
He looked from the trembling hands to the pale face.
“I am ready to hear,” he replied. “Do not waste time in making excuses for your husband, Hermione; it is labor in vain.”
A strange, wan smile came to her lips.
“I have nothing to excuse in him,” she said, gently, “for that which I have to tell you does not touch him. When you hear it you may fling me down and trample the life from me if you will.”