"What have I done to you? Come, Anna, I must have an answer. What have I done to you?"
She spoke at last, looking up. In her habit of implicit obedience, there was no help for it; there could be none when the order came from him.
"Nothing----to me."
"To whom, then? What is it?"
"Nothing," was all she repeated.
"Nothing! Do you repent having married me?"
"I don't know."
The answer seemed to pain him. He bent his handsome face a little towards her, pushing back impatiently his golden hair, as if the fair bright brow needed coolness.
"I thought you loved me, Anna?"
"And you know I did. Oh, that is it! The misery would be greater if I loved you less."