She swayed in my arms. A deadly pallor whitened her; then her knees trembled and she gave way, sinking to the floor, her head buried in the flowering curtains of the bed; and I to drop on my knees beside her, seeking to lift her face while the sobs shook her slender body, and she wept convulsively, head prostrate in her arms.
"I—I am wicked!" she wailed. "Oh, I have done that which has damned me forever, Carus!—forever and ever. I can not wed you—I love you so!—yet I can not wed you! What wild folly drove me to go with you? What devil has dragged me here to tempt you—whom I love so truly? Oh, God pity us both—God pity us!"
"Elsin," I said hoarsely, "you are mad to say it! Is there anything on earth to bar us from wedlock?"
"Yes, Carus, yes!" she cried. "It is—it is too late!"
"Too late!" I repeated, stunned.
"Aye—for I am a wedded wife! Now you know! Oh, this is the end of all!"
A while she lay there sobbing her heart out, I upright on my knees beside her, staring at blank space, which reeled and reeled, so that the room swam all awry, and I strove to steady it with fixed gaze, lest the whole world come crashing upon us.
At last she spoke, lifting her tear-marred face from the floor to the bed, forehead resting heavily in her hands:
"I ask your pardon—for the sin I have committed. Hear me out—that is my penance; spurn me—that is my punishment!"
She pressed her wet eyes, shuddering. "Are you listening, Carus? The night before I sailed from Canada—he sought me——"