"I have no right to refuse, if you require a full confession," she said, half playfully, half tearfully, and blushing deeply.
"I don't require it, but should like to have it, nevertheless; for I confess my curiosity is piqued," he said with an amused, yet tender look and tone.
"There isn't really very much to tell," she sighed, "only that because I was dreadfully unhappy and had worked myself up to believing that I was a hated wife, a burden and annoyance to my husband, I thought it would be an act of noble self-sacrifice to run away, and—O Ned, please don't laugh at me!"
"I am not laughing, love," he said in soothing, half-tremulous tones, taking her in his arms and holding her close, as he had done the night before. "How could I laugh at you for being willing to sacrifice everything for me? But that's not all?"
"Not quite. It came to me like a flash about the stage passing so near at two o'clock in the morning, and that I could get away then without being seen, and after I was in it make up my mind where I would get out."
"And how did you expect to support yourself?"
"There was some money in my purse—you never let it get empty, Ned—and—I thought I wouldn't need any very long."
"Wouldn't? why not?"
"Oh, I was sure, sure I couldn't live long without you," she cried, hugging him close and ending with a burst of tears and sobs.
"You dear, dear little thing!" he said with emotion, and tightening his clasp of her slight form; "after I had been so cruel to you, too!"