"Say rather her own reckless passion was her doom," he answered, solemnly. "Do not accuse yourself, Queenie. She did not blame you. She was very sorrowful and repentant at the last. She wanted your forgiveness."
"Oh, my poor Sydney! She went mad for love," said Queenie, weeping.
"As I had almost done," he answered. "For, Queenie, I have been nearly beside myself these last few weeks. I knew you in spite of all your denials, and the bitterness of it all nearly broke my heart. But now I shall have my own again. Sydney wished it, dearest," he added, seeing a look of hesitancy on her face.
She did not answer, and her blue eyes drooped away from his fond glance.
He moved nearer and took her unresisting hand in his.
"Darling, forgive me for pressing it now in your grief and trouble, but tell me, shall it be as Sydney wished? Will you come back to my heart?"
"Perhaps you will not want me when I have told you all I have to tell," she answered, her sweet face crimson with painful blushes.
"There is nothing left for you to tell, my darling. Sydney has told me all," he answered, quickly.
"And you do not blame me? You are not angry with me?" she said, lifting her fair, troubled face with a look of wonder, mingled with relief.
"No, my sweet one. How could I blame you? It was like your sweet, impulsive self," he answered. "But tell me now, Queenie if you will——"