“Back at last, John dear!” she said tenderly. “Are you tired?” And then something in his face startled her. “John dear!” she cried.
“Curse John!” he cried. “There, I have done with that masquerading. Here, quick—my little bag—a change of things!”
“Are you hurt?” she cried anxiously.
“Do you hear me?” he cried, and struck at her savagely with the back of his hand.
She staggered back with a low moan, but sprang to him the next moment, and threw her arms round his neck.
“John dearest,” she whispered, in a low, frantic tone, “for God’s sake tell me you are sorry you did that. For your own sake ask me to forgive you; it makes me mad!”
“Curse you, keep away!” he cried, flinging her off; but she staggered back, and tried to nestle in his breast, only to be flung off again. “Get me my clean things—quick!”
“No, no, not yet!” she cried, falling upon her knees and grasping at his hands. “John, dear John, one kind word; say one gentle word to me, pray, oh, pray!”
“Are you mad?” he said savagely, as he tried to release his hand.
“No; but you are driving me so!” she cried hoarsely. “I forgive you your infidelity, your unkindness—everything—the way in which you have wronged me. John—husband—for God’s sake, for your own sake, be kind to me now. You do not know the temptation that is on me.”