"Oh, Marah, with none to pity or to help; it was monstrous to have abandoned you so!"
"No; hush! consider the overwhelming evidence against me; I considered it even in the tempest and whirlwind of my anguish, and never once blamed and never once was angry with my husband; for I knew—not life, but the terrible circumstantial evidence had ruined me!"
"Ay, but did you not explain it to him?"
"How could I, alas! when I did not understand it myself? How Le Noir knew that Major Warfield was not expected home that fatal night—how he got into my house, whether by conspiring with my little maid or by deceiving her—or, lastly, how Major Warfield came to burst in upon him so suddenly, I did not know, and do not to this day."
"But you told Major Warfield all that you have told me?"
"Oh, yes! again and again, calling heaven to witness my truth! In vain! he had seen with his own eyes, he said. Against all I could say or do there was built up a wall of scornful incredulity, on which I might have dashed my brains out to no purpose."
"Oh, Marah, Marah! with none to pity or to save!" again exclaimed Herbert.
"Yes," said the meek creature, bowing her head; "God pitied and helped me! First he sent me a son that grew strong and handsome in body, good and wise in soul. Then He kept alive in my heart faith and hope and charity. He enabled me, through long years of unremitting and ill-requited toil, to live on, loving against anger, waiting against time, and hoping against despair!"
"Why did you leave your western home and come to Staunton, Marah?" asked Herbert.
"To be where I could sometimes hear of my husband without intruding on him. I took your widowed mother in, because she was his sister, though I never told her who I was, lest she should wrong and scorn me, as he had done. When she died I cherished you, Herbert, first because you were his nephew, but now, dear boy, for your own sake also."