For some five minutes it was a mad whirl of passion, love and regret. She was the first to recollect herself, to say to him:
"Lord Chandos, you must not kneel there; remember you have a wife at home."
The words struck him like a sharp sword. He arose and, drawing a chair for her, stood by her side.
"I am beside myself," he said, "with the pleasure of seeing you again. Forgive me, Leone; I will not offend. Oh, what can I say to you? How can I look upon your face and live?"
"You were very cruel to me and very treacherous," she said; "your treachery has spoiled my life. Oh, Lance, how could you be so cruel to me when I loved you so—how could you?"
Tears that she had repressed for years rained down her face; all the bitter grief that she had held in as with an iron hand, all the pride so long triumphant, all the pain and anguish, and the desolation, that had been in check, rushed over her, as the tempestuous waves of the sea rush over the rocks and sands.
"How could you, Lance?" she cried, wringing her hands; "how could you? You were cruel and treacherous to me, though I trusted you so. Ah, my love, my love, how could you?"
The beautiful head fell forward in the very abandonment of sorrow; great sobs shook the beautiful figure.
"Oh, Lance, I loved you so, I believed in you as I believed in Heaven. I loved you and trusted you, you forsook me and deceived me. Oh, my love, my love!"
His face grew white and his strong figure trembled under the pain of her reproaches.