Britton's face went rigid. He folded his arms over his breast.
"Strike!" he said. "I forgot that you are a Corsican."
One moment Mercia held her position, then dashed the weapon down so that it quivered with its point in the floor.
"Ah, no, Rex!" she cried proudly, "for I love you! It was but a supreme test. I have always loved you!"
Her husband staggered as from a forcible shock.
"You?" he cried. "Oh, this is too incredible!"
"Trascott spoke of a red gulf between us," said Mercia. "My heart has crossed it, and it is no more. Forgiveness follows penance!"
"You forgive? You love?" sobbed Britton. "Just God! The mighty strike!"
He caught her hands passionately and retained them, while the curate's re-entrance interrupted the climax of their lives.
"Leave us, Trascott," Britton begged. "Come back here in an hour."