"I tell you, frankly," he said, "that you have done grievously wrong. When that poor lady came to you in her doubt and perplexity, you ought to have told her at least as much of the truth as would have prevented the marriage. But, my darling, this shall not part us. If I teach you how to atone will you atone?"
She crossed her hands as one praying.
"I will do anything you tell me, Vane."
"You must go to Darrell Court, and you must make to Lady Darrell the same ample avowal you have made to me; tell her the same story—how you vowed vengeance against her, and how you carried that vengeance out; and then see what comes of it."
"But suppose she will not believe me—what then?"
"You will have done your best—you will at least have made atonement for your secrecy. If, with her eyes open, Lady Darrell marries Captain Langton after that, you will have nothing to blame yourself for. It will be hard for you, my darling, but it is the brave, right, true thing to do."
"And you do not hate me, Vane?"
"No; I love you even better than I did. The woman brave enough to own her faults and desirous to atone for them deserves all the love a man can give her. Pauline, when you have done this, my darling, may I ask you when you will be my wife?"
She sobbed out that she was unworthy—all unworthy; but he would not even hear the words.
"None the less dear are you for having told me your faults. There is only one word now, my darling, to keep in view; and that is, 'atonement.'"