"Mr. Gilbert! You say that! If I could only think so, only hope I had atoned!"
"You have indeed. I say it with all my heart. Your revenge has been a noble one. You have blest and brightened the life of Helen and her children. For him—he wrought his doom with his own hand! You have atoned."
"To Helen and her children—perhaps yes," she said, her voice broken and low; "but the greatest wrong of all was not done to them. Years ago I sinned against you, beyond all forgiveness. The remorse of my life is for that. You did me so much honor, you trusted me so entirely, and I—ah! what a wretch I must have been in your eyes, what a wretch I must be still."
He arose to his feet, moved beyond all power of silence now.
"Must be still," he repeated. "Norine! why do you make me say this? I love and honor you beyond all women."
She gave a low cry, and stood with her hands clasped together.
"I never thought to say it—you force it from me in self-defence. I loved you then—I love you now. You have never ceased for one instant to hold your place in my heart. It is folly, I know, but folly you will not laugh at. If you wronged me, Norine—and you have—I forgive you freely, utterly, and I pray Heaven to make you happy in the love of some happier man."
She stood spell-bound—the shock of surprise was so utter, but over her face a great joy was breaking.
"And Helen?" she gasped.
"Helen?" he looked at her in wonder.