"Then you repudiate me utterly, in spite of the fact that the law yet binds us to each other? I am no more to you than any other human being?" groaned the humbled man.
"Only in the sense that through you I have keenly suffered," she gravely returned.
"Then there is no hope for me," he whispered, hoarsely, as his head sank heavily upon his breast.
"You are mistaken, Gerald," his companion responded, with sweet solemnity; "there is every hope for you—the same hope and promise that our Master held out to the woman whom the Pharisees were about to stone to death when he interfered to save her. I presume to cast no revengeful 'stone' at you. I do not arrogantly condemn you. I simply say as he said, 'Go and sin no more.'"
"Oh, Isabel, have mercy! With you to aid me, I could climb to almost any height," cried the broken-spirited man, throwing out his hands in despairing appeal.
"I am more merciful in my rejection of your proposal than I could possibly be in acceding to it," she answered. "You broke every moral tie and obligation that bound me to you when you left me and my child to amuse yourself with another. Legally, I suppose, I am still your wife, but I can never recognize the bond; henceforth, I can be nothing but a stranger to you, though I wish you no ill, and would not lift my hand against you in any way—"
"Do you mean by that that you would not even bring mortification or scandal upon me by seeking to publicly prove the legality of our marriage?" Mr. Goddard interposed, in a tone of surprise.
"Yes, I mean just that. Since the certificate is in my possession, and I have the power to vindicate myself, in case any question regarding the matter arises in the future, I am content."
"But I thought—I supposed—Will you not even use it to obtain a divorce from me?" stammered the man, who suddenly remembered a certain rumor regarding a distinguished gentleman's devotion to the beautiful Mrs. Stewart.
"No; death alone can break the tie that binds me to you," she returned, her lovely lips contracting slightly with pain.