He stooped wonderingly closer to her. “Dearest, no!”
She gazed with sickening dread up into his face.
“Ah, yes, you are tired and sad. Mr. Fellowes has been telling me so much, making things clear, and—and—yes, you are older, and I never saw it until this instant.”
“My love, I am well!” he said, caressing her softly.
“It is I who have done this, Henry”—she silenced his protest with a soft imperious motion—“they saw it weeks ago; I am a bad wife now, as I have been a bad mother—ah, that is very sad!”
She laid her head down on their clasped hands and with a little shudder broke into soft sobbing.
“You are a most true, most noble wife,” he whispered, “my helpmeet in all things!”
“I have gone away and neglected you, and you have grown older.”
“Come home, my best beloved, come home and rest.”
“If I only could,” she said wistfully, “but dear, I am restless, I cannot stay still.