"Your husband's--your husband's grave and name! Come, Marion, let us be frank."
"In what am I uncandid?"
"You did not--you swore at the inquest you did not--love your husband, and now you are talking of killing yourself for his sake. Marion, you cannot hold such words candid."
He paused in his walk, and stood before her. He looked at her a moment, and then averted his gaze. Her eyes, although they rested intelligently on him, did not appear to identify him. They were the eyes of one occupied with the solution of a mental problem, aided by formula of which he was merely the source.
"Thomas Blake," she said, "I once thought you might grow to understand me, and then I came to the conclusion you never could. You are now further off than ever. Louis Davenport was my husband, and I belonged to him. I belong to him still. I swore--as they were good enough to remind me at the inquest--to love, honour, and obey him. I did not come to love him as women love their husbands, but my feeling towards him was whole and loyal. I was his, and I am his; and if my death, now that he is dead, can benefit him or comfort his name with quiet, I am willing to die. Do not be alarmed. I shall make no unpleasantness here. Do you think I am in the way of his rest?"
"Marion, you are talking pure nonsense. Why, your feelings as a Christian alone----"
"Who told you I was a Christian? I tell you I am a Pagan. Leave me at least the Pagan virtues of courage and fearlessness." She did not move.
He looked at her. There could be no doubt she was sincere. Mad as her words sounded, they must be taken at the full value of their ordinary meaning.
"I will not seek to break down your resolution or turn your purpose aside. But before I can be of any real use to you in the way of advice, you must trust me wholly. How am I to judge of your duty unless I know the entire case? Tell me all you know. Tell me all that passed between you and this Fahey, and all you know of the relations between him and your husband."
"I will tell you all you need know."