Marian Spaulding had an odd habit of spacing her words as if the sharp breaths in between were dashes to emphasize her thought. "I knew Mrs. Treadwell was aware of—of our arrangement—I knew, from Lans, that she was broad minded and generous but when I saw you two together last night—I—I wanted to come to you instead of to her!"
An overpowering excitement in the speaker began to affect Cynthia. She drew her chair closer and whispered:
"Please tell me—all about it!"
The significant words rushed Marian Spaulding breathlessly onward.
"I—I could not go to him—to Lans—until I made sure—as sure as possible—that I would not be injuring him by—by my demands. I wanted to tell some one who loved him and would think of him, first. He was always so heavenly good to me—I would not harm him even—now!"
"No!" Cynthia's deep eyes were fastened on the white, strained face. "I reckon no one would want to hurt Lans."
"I was so unhappy when—when he saved me from my life of shame and misery. There was no other way—and—and we had to choose! He was so noble—it was I who—who—gave myself to him; he never exacted—anything. I—loved him as only God and I can know! Poor Lans never comprehended why I left—but he—my husband was ill; dying and I could not help it. Something made me go back. It was the good in me that Lans had created that most of all compelled me to go. If Lans could believe that! oh! if he only could! A woman could, but could a man?"
Poor Cynthia was struggling to understand a strange language.
"I'm right sure," she faltered, "that Lans could understand."
"Do you think so? Oh! I have been so tortured. He told me to come to him if I needed him and God knows I need him now—but I wanted most of all—not to hurt him—or exact too much from his goodness. You see——" a palpitating pause followed. Then: "I did not know of my condition when I went away; I only heard and saw the wretched man who was once, who was still—my husband. I stayed and nursed him; he died—a month ago—and now—I must think of—of—the child!"