“Tell me now.”
“We are going back to Beni-Mora. We are not very far off from Beni-Mora to-night—not very far.”
“We are going to Beni-Mora!” he repeated in a dull voice. “We are——”
He sat up on the wall, looking straight into her face.
“Why?” he said. His voice was sharp now, sharp with fear.
“Boris, do you want to be at peace, not with me, but with God? Do you want to get rid of your burden of misery, which increases—I know it—day by day?”
“How can I?” he said hopelessly.
“Isn’t expiation the only way? I think it is.”
“Expiation! How—how can—I can never expiate my sin.”
“There’s no sin that cannot be expiated. God isn’t merciless. Come back with me to Beni-Mora. That little church—where you married me—come back to it with me. You could not confess to the—to Father Beret. I feel as if I knew why. Where you married me you will—you must—make your confession.”