"Laura darling—it has been a terrible mistake—and it is all my fault. Will you forgive me, dear one? I thought that you would love me—I see how it is when you are alone. No woman could have borne this bondage of yours as you have borne it since you have found out—"
"Herbert! Herbert!" cried Laura, in sudden agony. She thought he was going mad before her eyes.
"No, dear," he said, with an immense effort, and making a gesture with his hand as though to keep her in her place. "It is better to say it now, and it need never be said again. Perhaps I should not have the strength. I see it all. You are so kind and good that you will never show it to me—but when you are alone—then you let yourself go—is it any wonder? Are you to blame? You see that you have made the great mistake—that it was all pity and not love—and you long to be free from me as you should be, as you shall be, dear."
A wild cry broke from Laura's very heart when she realised what he meant.
"Love! Darling—Herbert! I never loved you as I love you now!"
She did not know that she spoke articulate words as she sprang to her feet and clasped him in her arms, half mad with grief at the thought of what he must have suffered, and loving him as she said she did, far beyond the love of earlier days. But he hardly understood yet that it was really love, and he tried to look up into her face, almost fainting with the terrible strain he had borne so bravely, and still struggling to be calm.
"Laura darling," he said, in a low voice, "it was all too natural. Unless you tell me what it was that made you act as I saw you just now, how can I understand?"
She turned her deep eyes straight to his.
"Do you doubt me still, Herbert?" she asked. And she saw that he could not help doubting.
"But if I tell you that what I was thinking of would pain you very much, and that it would be of no use—"