"I wish I could share your faith."
They ceased to speak, and sat silently gazing into each other's faces, the heart of the woman rent with a conflict between desire and duty, that of the man by a tempest of evil passions. At that moment, a slow and heavy step was heard in the hallway. They looked toward the door, and in the shadows saw a man who contemplated them silently for a moment and then advanced.
David rose to meet him.
"I beg your pardon," he said, feigning embarrassment, "I had an errand with the lady, and hoped I should find her alone."
"You may speak, for the gentleman is the friend of my husband and myself," Pepeeta said.
"I will begin, then," he responded, "by asking if you recognize me?" And at that he stepped out into the moonlight.
Pepeeta gave him a searching glance and exclaimed in surprise, "You are the judge who married me."
He let his head fall upon his breast with well-assumed humility, remained a moment in silence, looked up mournfully and said, "I would to God that I had really married you, for then I should not have been bearing this accursed load of guilt that has been crushing me for months."
At these words, Pepeeta sprang from her seat and stood before him with her hands clasped upon her breast.
"Be quick! go on!" she cried, when she had waited in vain for him to proceed.