Vera.
[Kneeling down by his chair, bending slightly over him.] Oh, dearest, dearest, you are ill and talking wildly! The wound in me is past healing; but it is he, not you, that struck it. How could I ask you to spare him? I am bound up as one with him. And I claim now that we shall have our punishment! Dearest, what you thought of me in your anger was the truth! I did plot to screen him and keep you back. I tried that day to strike you with despair—to break down your spirit, to——
Adene.
But you didn't know what he had done! You can't have known.
Vera.
No, I didn't know that, and I didn't know your courage. It was high above our reach, and we could not break it.—You not a strong man! You to ask for a corner of my love! It is yours all, long ago. It is thrown at your feet for you to gather as you will! [Throws herself down before him.] The love of one who wronged you, who plotted against you, who was sent here now to—— [Breaking off with a paroxysm of self-abasement.] Oh, he, he, who knew me, could think I would do that!
Adene.
Sent? Did he send you to me? To do what? [Preparing to rise.
Vera.