“Know nothing!” repeated Mrs. Temple in the greatest surprise. “What do you mean by this, John Temple? You can not expect us to believe you; her father, I am certain, will not.”
“I have returned here to tell what I know,” continued Temple, still in that broken voice; “and I would give all I possess in the world to be able to tell more. But I can not—she—she left me one night—”
“Left you?” interrupted Mrs. Temple, sharply.
“Yes, the night I left Woodlea. I went up to town; I saw her, and I was forced to tell her what I feared would break her heart.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her that the man she had trusted—the man that she had loved, and believed to be her husband—for we were married—had yet deceived her.”
“What do you mean? How did you deceive her?”
“Because when I was a very young man, almost a lad, I had hung a millstone about my neck; I had married another woman, an actress, and I knew that this now must come to May’s ears.”
“John Temple!” exclaimed Mrs. Temple, starting back.
“You may well look startled, yet this was so. I had induced this poor girl to leave her home; to go to some old friends of mine, and from their house we were married.”