But when she opened the library door and saw him standing on the hearthrug, with head down and a look of utter abasement, her courage failed her. She dare not look twice at his ravaged face, so she sank on to the sofa and covered her eyes with her hands.
Several minutes passed in which neither of them spoke. There was no sound except that of his laboured breathing and of the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. "If he does not speak soon," she thought, "I shall break into tears and fly out of the room."
But she did not move, and at last came his voice, humble and broken, and thrilling through and through her:
"Fenella!"
She did not answer; she could not; and again, after another moment of silence, he said,
"Fenella, I have come to ask you to forgive me."
She wanted to burst out crying, and to prevent herself from doing so she broke into a flood of wrath.
"Forgive you?" she said. "Ask that poor creature in Castle Rushen to forgive you—that poor girl whom you have just condemned for a crime that is the consequence of your own sin."
He did not reply for a moment, and then came the same humble, unsteady voice, saying,
"No doubt you are quite right, quite justified, but if you knew everything—that I could not help myself—that it was the law...."