“Oh, I will, I will; but,” she continued timidly, as if hardly daring to ask—“but you knew him—you knew this man—before—you came here?”
“Yes, dear, when I was a girl like you, as trusting and as loving. Before I became old and hard and stern as I am now. I met him at a famous party; we were introduced, and, in my girlish folly, I thought him all that was chivalrous and noble. He told me he loved me as time went on, and I believed him. We became engaged. The time drew near when he was to have been my husband.”
“To have been your husband?” said Isabel, looking at the speaker wonderingly.
“Yes; to have been my husband, dear, and the wedding gifts came fast. Life seemed so joyous to me then; and in another week I should have been his wife, but I was stayed from that—in time.”
“From that? In time?”
“Yes. I say in my blindness I thought him everything that was noble and good, and when the truth was brought home to me I would not believe it then. I defended him against all who attacked him, for I said, ‘It is impossible—he loves me too well, and I love him. No man could be so base.’”
“And you found out—was it true—true?”
“You saw him leave us, my child. He wrecked my life. Would he have gone like that if my words had not been just?”
“Nurse Elisia!”
“No; don’t call me that again.”