“His saying so,” continued she, “proves nothing. If father did know of his being a Mormon, I am sure he was ignorant of the wickedness of these people. There were stories about them; but there were others who contradicted these stories, and said they were all scandal—so little does the world know what is true from what is false. I learnt afterwards that the very worst that was said of them was even less than the truth.”
“Of course, you knew nothing of Stebbins being a Mormon?”
“Oh! sir, how could I? There was nothing said of that. He pretended he was emigrating to Oregon, where a good many had gone. Had I known the truth, I should have drowned myself rather than have gone with him!”
“After all, you would not have obeyed your father’s will in the matter, had not something else arisen. At his solicitation, you gave your consent; but were you not influenced by the incident that had occurred in the forest-glade?”
“Stranger! I have promised you I would conceal nothing; nor shall I. On discovering the falsehood of him who had told me he loved me, I was more than mad—I was revengeful. I will not deny that I felt spite. I scarcely cared what became of me—else how could I have consented to marry a man for whom I had neither love nor liking? On the contrary, I might almost say that I loathed him.”
“And you loved the other? Speak the truth, Marian! you have promised to do so—you loved Frank Wingrove?”
“I did.”
A deep-drawn sigh followed the confession.
“Once more speak the truth—you love him still?”
“Oh! if he had been true—if he had been true!”