"Your Dorian is here, darling Nita," answered a voice by her side, and his arm drew her fondly to his breast.
A low, shuddering cry, and Nita struggled out of those fond, clasping arms, and faced her lover with startled eyes.
"Dorian," she breathed, in mingled joy and pain—"Dorian, oh, why are you here?"
"I followed you, my sweet. Ah, Nita, I know the story of your mad attempt to end your life. Love, love, why did you do it?"
"Fate was against us, Dorian, and I could not live without you, I begged you to die with me, but you were cruel. Life was more to you than love. That is a man's way. But, being only a weak woman, I chose death—only they were so hard they would not let me die."
Her voice sank into his heart.
"Oh, my poor, little love. I did not believe your wild words. How could I think you would try to end so sweet a life?" he cried, but Nita did not reply; she only gazed at him with the fixity of despair.
"Nita, I distrusted you that night. I spoke cruelly to you. Will you forgive me my harshness, my dear wife?"
"Oh, not that word—not that!" and Nita shrank and shivered, drawing back as he approached her. "Oh, Dorian, do not think of me, nor speak to me as your wife ever again," she continued wildly. "Remember that grim old man—remember Miser Farnham, Dorian. Have I not told you I never can be your wife while he lives! Oh, why does Heaven permit such wretches to walk the earth, a barrier to the happiness of true lovers?" and she wrung her hands despairingly.