She also rose and stood up, and leaned upon the balustrade and looked into his face.
"I am glad you know," she said, and he saw how pale she was, and that her cheeks were wet. "Now that it is over, I am glad that you know," she said again. "You are beyond sympathy, and beyond pitying any one, though you are not unkind. I am glad, that if any one was to know my secret, it should be you. I could not bear pity. It would hurt me. But you are not unkind."
"Nor kind—nor anything," he said.
"No. It is as though I had spoken to the grave—or to eternity. It is safe with you."
"Yes. Quite safe. Safer than with the dead."
"He never knew it. Thank God! He never knew it! To me he was always the same faithful friend. To you he was an enemy, and cruel. I thought him above cruelty, but he was human, after all. Was it not human, that he should be cruel to you?"
"Yes," answered Griggs, wondering a little at her speech and tone. "It was very human."
"And you forgive him for it?"
"I?" There was surprise in his tone.
"Yes," she answered. "I want your forgiveness for him. He died without your forgiveness. It is the only thing I ask of you—I have not the right to ask anything, I know, but is it so very much?"