"Never as your wife, Robert," she replied, tremblingly.
"And when, then!"
"Oh, Robert! don't look so sternly at me—don't speak so strangely. I meant to tell you, I did indeed. I have been striving all these months to tell you."
Alas! there was something to tell, then; every word she uttered drove away hope more and more from his heart.
"Months and years?" he said, mournfully.
"No, no; to-day, this very day have I been watching and waiting. Oh! why did you not come back? Why did you not come back, Robert, so that I might have told you?"
"You dared not," he said, sternly.
"Oh, yes! I dared. I have done no sin, only deceived you, Robert, at—at first."
"Only at first. Only for ever."
"No, no; not for ever. I always meant to tell you, I did, indeed, Robert." She began to fear he distrusted her words already—she, whose very "yes" had been implicitly believed and reverenced. Alas! this first sin, perhaps the only one, into what meshes it leads us, often bringing terrible retribution.