"I knew your pluck; you gave me proof when you married me. For all that, I knew your hatred of shabbiness and wrong. I'm an unsuccessful criminal."
"All the same you are my husband," said Flora quietly.
Wyndham looked hard at her and hesitated.
"My dear," he said, "I cannot urge this claim. It would hurt less to leave you than try to keep you if you shrank."
"Then you doubt me yet?"
"No. I'm ashamed and humbled. I don't know what I ought to do, or what I ought to say."
"There is not much to be said, but it is difficult. Come here, Harry, and give me your hand. One hates to talk like a moralizing prig and it does no good; but you have gone down hill for me and I want to help you back."
Wyndham came to the bench and she took his hand in hers. "I am your wife and will not let you go," she went on. "Still you must give up the money you have earned and put straight the harm you have done. It doesn't matter if this makes us poor. I can go without much you have given me. I'd be glad to go without!"
"Ah," he said with strong emotion, "I didn't know you, Flora! Although you hate my offense, you mean to stick to me?"
"My dear! I expect the temptation was very strong and at the beginning you did not know all you did. It was rather horrible to help a renegade outcast to plot against civilized rule and try to put in its place superstitious cruelty. But that's done with. We must think how we can make good."