She spoke with passionate animation—almost fierceness. While through her inner mind there ran the thought, "I've told him!—I've told him! If he doesn't understand, it's not my fault. I can always say, 'I did tell you—about Roger—and the rest!—as much as I was bound to tell you.' Why should I make him miserable—and destroy my own chances with him for nothing?"
They stood fronting each other. Over the fine bronzed face of the forester there ran a ripple of profound emotion—nostril and lip—and eye. Then she found herself in his arms—with no power to resist or free herself. Two or three deep, involuntary sobs—sobs of excitement—shook her, as she felt his kisses on her cheek.
"Darling!—I'll try and make up to you—for all you've suffered. Poor child!—poor little Rachel!"
She clung to him, a great wave of passion sweeping through her also. She thought, "Now I shall be happy!—and I shall make him happy, too. Of course I shall!—I'm doing quite right."
Presently he put her back in her chair, and sat beside her on the low fender stool, in front of the fire. His aspect was completely transformed. The triumphant joy which filled him had swept away the slightly stiff and reserved manner which was on the whole natural to him. And it had swept away at the same time all the doubts and hesitations of his inner mind. She had told her story, it seemed to him, with complete frankness, and a humility which appealed to all that was chivalrous and generous in a strong man. He was ready now to make more excuses for her, in the matter of his own misleading, than she seemed to wish to make for herself. How natural that she should act as she had acted! The thought of her suffering, of her ill-treatment was intolerable to him—and of the brute who had inflicted it.
"Do you know where that man is now?" he said to her presently. She had fallen back in her chair—pale and shaken, but dressed, for his eyes, in a loveliness, a pathos, that was every moment strengthening her hold upon him.
"Roger? No, I have no idea. I always suppose he's in Canada still. He never appeared when the case was tried. But the summons had to be served on him, and my lawyers succeeded in tracking him to a lodging in Calgary, where he was living—with the Italian girl. But after that we never heard any more of him—except that I had a little pencil note—unsigned, undated, delivered by hand—just before the trial came on. It said I should repent casting him off—that I had treated him shamefully—that I was a vile woman—and though I had got the better of him for the time, he would have his revenge before long."
Ellesborough shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"Threats are cheap! I hope you soon put that out of your mind?"
She made a little restless movement.