"But I couldn't have married you," she protested, "if I'd known."
"It's something that's cropped up lately, is it?" He bent towards her, watching her keenly. "It can't be so very terrible."
"It is," she told him in distress.
He was silent a moment; then very suddenly he moved, put his arm around her, drew her close. "What is it, my elf? Tell me!" he whispered.
She hid her face against him with a little sob. It was odd, but at that moment she felt no fear of the man. He, whose fiery caresses had once appalled her, had by some means unknown possessed himself of her confidence so that she could not keep him at a distance. She did not even wish to do so.
After a few seconds, quiveringly she began to speak. "I don't know how to tell you. It's an awful thing to tell. You know, I—I've never been happy at home. My mother never liked me,—was often cruel to me." She shuddered suddenly and violently. "I never knew why—till that awful night—the last time I saw her. And then—and then she told me." She drew a little closer to him like a frightened child.
He held her against his breast. She was trembling all over. "Well?" he said gently.
Desperately she forced herself to continue. "I don't belong to—to my father—at all; only—only—to her."
"What?" he said.
She buried her shamed face a little deeper. "That was why—she married," she whispered.