“Pish!” he exclaimed, contemptuously.
“You do not believe me, dear,” she continued, with the tears streaming down her cheeks; “but God is my judge that I speak the truth. Oh, Dutch, Dutch!” she continued, as she saw his face begin to work, “some day you will know all, and your heart will bleed for the agony you have caused me.”
“Hester,” he said, in the same low tone, “I’d give twenty years of my life to have back the same old trust in you, but it is gone, gone for ever.”
“No,” she replied, with a bright look beaming in her face, “it is not: the truth is coming—coming soon, and when it does, Dutch, you will come back to my heart with the knowledge that your little wife has forgiven you your injustice from the first, that she loves you more dearly than ever.”
“You forgive me?” he said bitterly.
“Yes, the wrong you have done me, Dutch. You have nothing to forgive me but for keeping my secret for your sake.”
There was such an air of candour and truth in her countenance that had they been alone he would have clutched her to his breast, but he knew that they were watched by many eyes, and restraining himself he said quietly:
“It is enough now. Tell me this—will you—when I return—”
“You’re a-going to have on that rope, ain’t you, Mr Dutch?” said Rasp, interrupting them.
“Yes. You can get it ready,” replied Dutch.