"Not yet. There's danger still."
Oswald bit his lip. "Danger of what?"
"Of--of--exposure," she faintly said. "Do not force me to say more. Only believe one thing--that I can never be your wife. Do you think if there were no insuperable barrier that I should have made one?" she added, her face flushing a hot crimson. "Forgive me: I scarcely know what I say: but you wished that we should speak without reserve."
"Sara, let me fully understand. Do you imply that there exists any good and substantial reason still, call it insuperable barrier if you will, why you ought not to become my wife? Wait a moment. Before you give an answer remember that to my heart it is fraught with either life or death."
"I do not imply it; I fully state it. Oh, don't visit it upon me!" she exclaimed, as his face seemed to be assuming its old haughtiness. "It is not my fault. I did not work the disgrace."
"No," he answered, soothingly, "it is not your fault. Forgive me," he softly whispered. "The blow to me is heavy."
"It may pass for you. It will pass. You will form new friendships, new ties, and forget the old. Better that it should be so."
"But never a new love! Never one who will be to me what the other has been."
She rose from her seat. Oswald drew her down on it again.
"As I hinted just now, Sara, the time when we may mix freely as friends has not yet come; it would not do for either of us. But I must make a last appeal to you--suffer me to be your friend in this one strait. Is it not possible that I can act for you?"