"It's not true," he broke in sternly.
"It is true. She told me so with her own lips. I wouldn't be here now if she hadn't confessed to me. You wouldn't have her—that's what she said. Now, I don't believe even that——"
She stopped, gasping for breath. Sigrid took a step forwards, and Tristram, as he saw her face, felt the anger go out of him. She also had tried to atone—to safeguard the happiness of a woman they had both wronged. It had been in vain, grotesquely, tragically in vain. But she had not spared herself.
She went past him, straight to Anne's side.
"Mrs. Tristram——" she began, "your husband has told you the truth. He knew nothing of my coming. I bring grave news——"
Anne shrank back from her.
"Tristram—tell her to go—I can't bear it—won't you do even that for me? I'm dying—you'll have time enough afterwards. You'll be happy with her then. Can't you give me this hour—tell her to go——"
He stood big and determined before her.
"You are unjust, Anne. And you are doing yourself harm——"
"Does that trouble you?"