The farmer, who had no intention of injuring his horse by fast driving, went plodding at a jog-trot onward, in spite of Willard's furious demands to drive fast. Inwardly cursing the lazy beast, he gave up the effort at last, and strove to while away the tedious hours in conversing with Christie.
Slowly and somewhat incoherently he learned from her all the events of that night, and of her after life in the cottage, and her motives for remaining there.
"And you were willing to remain in that isolated place all your life that I might marry Sibyl Campbell, my poor Christie!" he said, with a pang of deepest remorse. "And so you loved me still, even believing me guilty?"
"Oh, Willard! did you think for one moment that I could cease to love you?" she answered, fervently. "It was because I loved you so well that I wished to see you happy with Sibyl."
"My faithful, leal-hearted, unselfish little wife," he groaned, pressing her closer to his side.
"But, Willard, there is one thing I want to know. I want to hear it from your own lips. Answer me truly, as you hope for salvation, do you love Sibyl Campbell?"
"Oh, Christie, I do! I do! Better than life, better than my soul's salvation? Better than my hopes of heaven do I love her!" he exclaimed, passionately.
"It is well," she said, folding her hands, with a slight shiver. "Thank Heaven for the boon of death."
"But, Christie, I will forget her; you are my wife. I will go far away, where I will never see her more!" he said, recalled to himself. "By devoting my life to you, I will try to atone for all I have made you suffer, sweet wife."
"It will not be necessary, Willard. Dearest, best Willard, can you not see I am dying?"