"Shall we go?" murmured Scott.
She looked at him vaguely for a second, feeling stunned and blinded by the radiance of that revelation. A black veil seemed to be descending upon her; she put out a groping hand.
He took it, and his hold was sustaining. He led her in silence down the long, shadowy building to the porch.
He would have led her further, but a sudden, heavy shower was falling, and he had to pause. She sank down trembling upon the stone seat.
"Scott! Oh, Scott!" she said. "Help me!"
He made a slight, involuntary movement that passed unexplained. "I am here to help you, my dear," he said, his voice very quiet and even. "You mustn't be scared, you know. You'll get through it all right."
She wrung her hands together in her extremity. "It isn't that," she told him. "I—I suppose I've got to go through it—as you say so. But—but—you'll think me very wicked, yet I must tell you—I've made—a dreadful mistake. I'm marrying for money, for position, to get away from home,—anything but love. I don't love him. I know now that I never shall—never can! And I'd give anything—anything—anything to escape!"
It was spoken. All the long-pent misgivings that had culminated in awful certainty the night before had so wrought in her that now—now that the revelation had come—she could no longer keep silence. But of that revelation she would sooner have died than speak.
Scott heard that wrung confession, standing before her with a stillness that gave him a look of sternness. He spoke as she ended, possibly because he realized that she would not be able to endure the briefest silence at that moment, possibly because he dreamed of filling up the gap ere it widened to an irreparable breach.
"But, Dinah," he said, "don't you know he loves you?"