"I?—let me think. This is terrible. Oh, John!"
Again Lady Caroline said, in her sharp, bold tone, "Take away your hand."
"Husband, shall I?"
"No."
For some minutes they stood together, both silent, with this poor woman. I call her "poor," as did they, knowing, that if a sufferer needs pity, how tenfold more does a sinner!
John spoke first. "Cousin Caroline." She lifted up her head in amazement. "We are your cousins, and we wish to be your friends, my wife and I. Will you listen to us?"
She sobbed still, but less violently.
"Only, first—you must promise to renounce for ever guilt and disgrace."
"I feel it none. He is an honourable gentleman—he loves me, and I love him. That is the true marriage. No, I will make you no such promise. Let me go."
"Pardon me—not yet. I cannot suffer my wife's kinswoman to elope from my own house, without trying to prevent it."