"Paul Drayton, the innkeeper of Hendon," she answered, calmly.
"No, no; he is your—"
He paused, his brows knit, his fingers interlaced. Her bosom swelled.
"Would you tell me that he is my husband?" she said indignantly.
Hugh Ritson again passed his hand across his brow.
"Greta, I have deserved your distrust," he said, in an altered tone.
"What is done can never be undone," she answered.
His voice had regained its calmness, but his manner was still agitated.
"I may serve you even yet," he said; "I have done you too much wrong; I know that."
"What is your remorse worth now?" she asked. "It comes too late."