Her tears dried, they seemed burned into her eyes, and she pressed her hands against her throat; she felt as if she must surely strangle to death.
"Did you marry Belhaven of your own choice?" John asked again and his voice cut her to the heart; it was not like him to force her into a corner, but he was battling for life himself and this vivid revelation of his love was an acute agony to her.
She raised her head; she did not look at him, and her voice was very low as she replied, "Of my own choice!"
Charter turned from her and hid his face a moment in his hands,—strong, muscular, expressive hands, they were like him.
There was an intense silence.
At last he went slowly to the door. "Forgive me, I've been a brute—good-by."
But the limit of her endurance had been reached. "John," she cried, "come back!"
He turned and faced her; he looked as he had looked at death in battle. "It's no use, Rachel; thank you for telling me the truth."
"I didn't; I lied to you."
He uttered an inarticulate sound.