“Do you understand what I have been saying?”
“I have heard every word,” Norman answered; but he had a dazed look, as if his joy was too sudden and too great for comprehension.
Lord Stuart gravely said:
“When you married the woman who called herself Miss Acton, she had a husband already living, so her marriage to you was void in law, and your marriage with my niece was, therefore, lawful. Sweetheart is your wife still, and your boy has no stain on his name to prevent him from inheriting honors from an ancestry that was noble on both sides.”
“My God, it is true; I thank Thee!” Norman cried, fervently.
He was hastening toward Sweetheart, but when he saw her resting with her golden head on her mother’s breast, he drew back, feeling that the scene was too holy and sacred to be disturbed even by a husband’s yearning love.
“You understand now, Norman, that I was moved by interest for yourself when I let you think you had cause to be jealous of me. I did not want to betray her sin if I could avoid it, but I did not mean that you should ever live with her again,” Lord Stuart added.
Norman stood perfectly silent. He said to himself that now he need never betray what he knew of Camille’s sin. He was glad of it. The man’s noble heart was fain to shield her for the old love’s sake. Retribution had overtaken her in her guilty, shameless career. Needless for him to lift his hand to cast a single stone. She was crouching in her chair, terrified and shame-stricken for once, forgetting all her passionate defiance, livid with the thought that Lord Stuart knew all her sin, all her shame. Oh, why had she not taken his kind advice long ago? Why had she brazened it out like this?
“What are they going to do with me, Finette?” she asked, in a hollow, frightened tone.
“Put you in prison, I suppose. I am sure you deserve it,” was the sullen reply.