"Oh, I do not wonder at your look of horror; but, all those weary months, I thought so. Oh, Willard, dearest, can you ever forgive me for wronging you so?"
"Christie!"
"Forgive me! forgive me! Oh, my husband, forgive me! But on that night, that awful night, I was met on the beach and stabbed by a man."
"Heavens and earth! And you thought it was I?"
"Willard, Willard, forgive me! But oh! what else could I think? You appointed the meeting. I went, was met there by a tall man, stabbed by him, and left for dead on the shore."
"And you could believe I could do such a deed! Oh, Christie, Christie!" he said, with bitter reproach.
"Oh, how could I help it? How could I help it? The thought was maddening: but how could I think otherwise? Say, only say, you forgive me, Willard!"
"I forgive you, Christie; but you have far the most to forgive. What strange, fathomless mystery all this is? Who was the man, Christie?"
"I do not know! I have no idea! Oh, I thought I had not an enemy in the wild world."
"Is there no clew? Is there no means by which you could recognize him again?"