"Rachel—" his voice was hoarse with pain—"do you love him?"
She walked ahead of him, her head bent; once she stumbled and almost fell, then she recovered herself and stood still. They were at the edge of the wood; Belhaven's house stood before them and there were flowers abloom on the low terrace. John came up to her, his white face set and stern, passion in his eyes.
"I meant it," he said hoarsely. "I'm a brute—but I meant it, Rachel."
"I've married him."
They looked at each other. They were two souls in torment and she would have given hers to save him this anguish. At that moment she felt that she could have died for him. They were silent a long time and then he thrust his clenched hands into his pockets.
"I'll take you home; forgive me again—if you can!"
"There's nothing to forgive," her white lips stiffened. "Don't go on with me now—come some other time, to-morrow. Now I can't bear it!" The tears ran down her cheeks.
Something in his throat choked him and he turned away. "You're right—of course, but I wish you'd tell me all; it—it would be easier to bear."
She shook her head. "Not easier, harder."
"Good God, as if it could be!"