“All—all.”
“No—not all—I have no wife.”
“O sir! Henry! Why try to deceive me any longer? You have a wife! I have been told it, by those who know. It is true!”
“I have deceived you. That is true, that only. I had a wife. She is dead!”
“Dead!”
“Ay, dead.”
“I acknowledge my crime,” continued he, after a solemn pause. “I should have told you all. For my justification I can plead only my own wrongs, and your beauty. I loved you, while she was still living.”
“O, mercy! what is this? She is dead; and you love me no more?”
“No more? What mean you, Marion? Heart and hand, soul and body, I am yours. I swore it at our last interview. It cost no sacrifice to keep the oath: I could not break it if I would.”
“O Henry! This is cruel. ’Tis insulting! Have you not kept that promise? How, then, can you be true to your troth?”