"May I not? Be good—be pitiful. Here am I, charged with guilt, conscious of innocence——"
"Let us suppose all that, but are you a man free to make declarations of love? One would say that you are, as it were, married for some time to come to the lady who has lately been buried."
"True," said Osborne—"in the eyes of the world, in a formal way: but in the eyes of those near to me? Oh, I appeal to your indulgence, your friendship, your heart. Tell me that you forgive, that you understand me! and then I shall be so exuberantly gladsome that in the sweep of my exhilaration I shall go straight and find her, wherever she lies hidden.... Will you not say 'yes' on those terms?" He smiled wanly, with a hungry cajolery, looking into her face.
But she did not unbend.
"Let us first find her! and then other things may be discussed. But to find her! it is past all knowing—Oh, deep is the trouble of my soul to-day, Mr. Osborne!"
"Wait—hope——"
"But you were speaking of yesterday."
"Yes. She was at the inquest: and when I saw her—think how I felt! I said: 'She believes in me.' And three days after that she wrote to me——"
"My poor Rosalind!" murmured Mrs. Marsh. "She suffered more than I imagined. Her nature is more recondite than the well in which Truth dwells. What could she have written to you?"
"That I don't know."