"Do you remember that night that you fainted in my arms?" he said. "Do you remember opening your eyes in the boat? Do you know—can you guess—what your eyes told me?"
She was silent; only again from head to foot she shivered.
He went on very quietly, as one absolutely sure of himself:
"I looked into your soul that night, and I saw your secret hidden away in its darkest corner. And I knew it had been there for a long, long time. I knew from that moment that, hate me as you might, you were mine, as I have been yours for so long as I have known you."
She raised her eyes suddenly, stiffening in his grasp.
"And you expect me to believe that of you?" she said, a tremor that was not of fear, in her voice.
"You do believe it," he answered with conviction.
She raised her hands with something of her old imperious grace, and laid them on his arms, freeing herself with a single gesture.
"And all those years ago," she said, "when you made me believe you had been trifling with me—"
"I lied!" said Hone. "It was the hardest thing I ever did. But something had to be done. I did it to save you suffering."