He wound his arm around her.
“You shall never be sad again,” he murmured in her ear, “if my care and devotion can prevent it.”
But she shrank from him a little, and he saw it.
“What is this, Florence? Have you lost your trust in me? Have you been taught to doubt me? Did he who separated us teach you this lesson?”
A cry of pain burst from her lips. She could not hear her father named disrespectfully, however faulty he might have been.
“Oh, Mr. Aylwinne, you speak of the dead! For my sake never say such cruel words again!”
“Then you loved him, Florence, in spite of all?” he asked sadly.
“I strove earnestly and faithfully to do my duty; therefore spare me the grief of feeling that you are hard in your judgment of his actions.”
“You are a true woman,” he said moodily, “ever clinging closest to those who deserve the least at your hands.”
Angry and hurt, she began to retrace her steps, and this brought him back to himself. He followed her, and began to entreat for forgiveness.