"But, Trevor dearest," she said, "it was yours long—long ago. Oh, don't you understand? How shall I make you understand?"
She clasped him closer. The moonlight was shining in her eyes—the eyes of a woman who had come through suffering into peace.
"My darling," she said, "before God, I am telling you the truth. If you hadn't come back to me, I should have broken my heart."
He took her head between his hands. He bent his face to hers, looking deep into those shining, unswerving eyes.
"Won't you believe me?" she pleaded. "Dear, I couldn't lie to you if I tried. Must I put it more plainly still? Then listen! You are more to me now than Bertie ever was. I do not say more than he might have been. But we can't put back the clock. I wouldn't if I could. No—no, not even to live again those old happy days. Trevor, do you understand now, dear? For if you don't, not even Aunt Philippa could be harder to convince. I am yours. I am yours. The other was a dream that can only come true in Paradise. But this is our Reality—yours and mine. And I can't live without you. I want you so. I love you so. Trevor—my husband!"
Her lips quivered suddenly, but in that moment his found them and possessed them. She gave herself to him in complete surrender, as she had given herself on their wedding-night. Yet with a difference. For she throbbed in his arms; she thrilled to his touch. She opened to him the doors of her soul, and drew him within…
"And now you understand?" she whispered to him later.
"Yes—I understand," he said.
She laid her head again upon his breast. "To understand all is to forgive all," she said.
To which he answered softly, "But there is nothing to forgive."