"Yes!" said I dully. "That is all!"
"And enough for one lifetime!" added Anthony. "No more secrets,
Loveliness!"
"Never any more, dear Anthony, though it was all for you that I suffered, and Diana—my dear, dear Diana—kept silence and allowed you to think—to—"
"God forgive me!" I groaned.
"I wasn't worth it, Babs!" exclaimed Anthony, kissing her; and then his hand was upon my shoulder.
"What now, old fellow?"
"O Anthony, was there ever such a blind fool? Was ever angel of God so cruelly misjudged? My noble Diana!" Hardly knowing what I did, I turned and began to stumble along beside the brook, conscious only of my most bitter remorse. And then a hand clasped mine, and turning to the touch of these warm, vital fingers, "Diana," said I, "O Diana—"
"You know—at last, Peregrine?"
"I know that I dared to think you unworthy—doubted your sweet purity—called you—wanton. And I—miserable fool—in my prideful folly dreamed that in marrying you—mine was the sacrifice! Oh, I am not fit to live—Diana—O Diana, can you forgive me?—All my life I have been a failure!"
"Dear love, hush—oh, hush!" she sighed in weeping voice. But in the extremity of my self-abasement, I knelt to kiss her hands, the hem of her dress, her slender, pretty feet. "Peregrine dear, your—your mistake was very natural; you saw me—at Raydon Manor—"