“Hugh!” she said sadly when he had finished, “I seem to have new knowledge of things, now that I am blind. I think this letter is not altogether real. You see, that was his way of saying-good-bye.”
What Hugh Tryon thought, he did not say. He had met the Governor on his way to Pascal House, and had learned some things which were not for her to know.
She continued: “I could not bear that one who was innocent of any real crime, who was a great artist, and who believed himself a patriot, should suffer so here. When he asked me I helped him. Yet I suppose I was selfish, wasn’t I? It was because he loved me.”
Hugh spoke breathlessly: “And because—you loved him, Marie?”
Her head was lifted quickly, as though she saw, and was looking him in the eyes. “Oh no, oh no,” she cried, “I never loved him. I was sorry for him—that was all.”
“Marie, Marie,” he said gently, while she shook her head a little pitifully, “did you, then, love any one else?”
She was silent for a space and then she said: “Yes—Oh, Hugh, I am so sorry for your sake that I am blind, and cannot marry you.”
“But, my darling, you shall not always be blind, you shall see again. And you shall marry me also. As though—life of my life! as though one’s love could live but by the sight of the eyes!”
“My poor Hugh! But, blind, I could not marry you. It would not be just to you.”
He smiled with a happy hopeful determination; “But if you should see again?”