The culprit shrank. "Oh, no, no!"
Rachel took her hands again and held them steadily. "Eva, I think you love your husband."
Eva made no answer, but she turned her face away with a little, half-stifled sob. "It wouldn't make any difference now! I've no one but you left to love me, Rachel, and I've lied about you and ruined your life!"
"Not even that must keep you silent, Eva; the truth is God's, you'll have to speak it sooner or later."
"I'm not like you, Rachel, I'm not like that; I feel as if I'd been too wicked for God to have anything to do with me."
"You poor child!" Rachel forgot the misery that had made her recoil at first from the confession, and again her sister's weakness appealed to her strength. "You've got to go to God first, Eva, and afterwards you've got to tell Johnstone."
Eva sat staring at the wall, her face pale and small as a child's, her eyes wide with misery. "Rachel, I can't—I can't see the scorn grow in his eyes, I can't!"
"You'll never be happy until you do; it's just that—the falsehood—that hurts you."
"You mean against you?"
"Never mind me; I can bear it, I can even forgive you. I mean the falsehood against your husband."