"Yes, learn it, and let it whelm your soul in shame. Before he saw you, before he knew you, he loved me; and I was to be his wife. Yes, weep, and wail, and sob; your tears shall not soon dry. You have caused him to forget his vows, his honor, his plighted faith, his promised love to me, and you must pay the penalty."
"Oh, I never knew it—I never knew it!" wailed Christie, wringing her hands.
"And, as he has been false to me, so, likewise, will he be false you. You are the cause of his treachery, of his broken vows, his perjured soul; you are the cause of all; and, think you such love can be blessed?"
"Forgive me! Oh, Sibyl, forgive me!" still wailed Christie.
"May Heaven never forgive me if I do!" cried Sibyl, with impassioned vehemence. "Think you, girl, I am one to be won by tears and protestations? Faugh! you should have thought of all this when you listened to his unlawful love."
"Oh, I did not know! As Heaven hears me, I did not know. I would have died sooner than have listened to him, had I known!"
"Prove it," said Sibyl, with a sudden gleam in her dark eyes.
"How—how? Only say how I shall redeem my error! Let me know how I may atone!"
"Atone!—you?", said Sibyl, with a withering sneer. "I tell you, girl, if your life could be prolonged for a thousand years, and every second of that time spent in torture, you could not atone for the wrong you have done me. But make such expiation as you can—prove at least that there is some truth in your words."
"Oh, Sibyl, I would willingly die if I could redeem my fault."