"To be true to them is to be false to yourself, to your husband, and to me," said Hugh.
"I love my husband," said Greta, with an eloquent glance. "To be true to them is to be true to him."
There was a pause. Hugh Ritson's manner underwent a change. It was the white heat of high passion that broke the silence when he spoke again.
"Greta," he said, and his deep voice had a strong tremor, "if there is any truth in what that priest told us to-night—if it is not a dream and a solemn mockery made to enchant or appal the simple—if there is a God and judgment—my soul is already too heavily burdened with sins against you and yours. I would have eased it of one other sin more black than these; but it was not to be."
"What do you mean?" said Greta. Her face was panic-stricken.
Hugh Ritson came a step nearer.
"That your husband is in my hands—that one word from me would commit him to a doom more dreadful than death—that if he is to be saved as a free man, alive, you must renounce him forever."
"Speak plain. What do you mean?" said Greta.
"Choose—quick! Which shall it be? You for this convent, or your husband for lifelong imprisonment?"
Greta's mind was in a whirl. She was making for the door in front of them. He stepped before her.