Hannah sobbed.
"I suppose it was the discovery of Mr. Brudenell's first marriage that killed her?"
"Yes, sir," sobbed Hannah.
"Ah! I often read and speak of the depravity of human nature; but I could not have believed Herman Brudenell capable of so black a crime," said Mr. Wynne, with a shudder.
"Sir," replied Hannah, resolved to do justice in spite of her bleeding heart, "he isn't so guilty as you judge him to be. When he married Norah he believed that his wife had been killed in a great railway crash, for so it was reported in all the newspaper accounts of the accident; and he never saw it contradicted."
"His worst fault then appears to have been that of reckless haste in consummating his second marriage," said Mr. Wynne.
"Yes; and even for that he had some excuse. His first wife was an artful widow, who entrapped him into a union and afterwards betrayed his confidence and her own honor. When he heard she was dead, you see, no doubt he was shocked; but he could not mourn for her as he could for a true, good woman."
"Humph! I hope, then, for the sake of human nature that he is not so bad as I thought him. But now, Hannah, what do you intend to do?"
"About what?" inquired the poor woman sadly.
"About clearing the memory of your sister and the birth of her son from unmerited shame," replied Mr. Wynne gravely.