‘What a strange mystery in your life!’ she said, forcing a perplexed smile. ‘Something to balance the tragedy in mine. I am absolutely in the dark as to your past history, it seems. And yet I had thought you told me everything.’
‘I could not tell you that, Viviette, because it would have endangered our relations—though not in the way you may suppose. You would have reproved me. You, who are so generous and noble, would have forbidden me to do what I did; and I was determined not to be forbidden.’
‘To do what?’
‘To marry you.’
‘Why should I have forbidden?’
‘Must I tell—what I would not?’ he said, placing his hands upon her arms, and looking somewhat sadly at her. ‘Well, perhaps as it has come to this you ought to know all, since it can make no possible difference to my intentions now. We are one for ever—legal blunders notwithstanding; for happily they are quickly reparable—and this question of a devise from my uncle Jocelyn only concerned me when I was a single man.’
Thereupon, with obviously no consideration of the possibilities that were reopened of the nullity of their marriage contract, he related in detail, and not without misgiving for having concealed them so long, the events that had occurred on the morning of their wedding-day; how he had met the postman on his way to Warborne after dressing in the cabin, and how he had received from him the letter his dead uncle had confided to his family lawyers, informing him of the annuity, and of the important request attached—that he should remain unmarried until his five-and-twentieth year; how in comparison with the possession of her dear self he had reckoned the income as nought, abandoned all idea of it there and then, and had come on to the wedding as if nothing had happened to interrupt for a moment the working out of their plan; how he had scarcely thought with any closeness of the circumstances of the case since, until reminded of them by this note she had seen, and a previous one of a like sort received from the same solicitors.
‘O Swithin! Swithin!’ she cried, bursting into tears as she realized it all, and sinking on the observing-chair; ‘I have ruined you! yes, I have ruined you!’
The young man was dismayed by her unexpected grief, and endeavoured to soothe her; but she seemed touched by a poignant remorse which would not be comforted.
‘And now,’ she continued, as soon as she could speak, ‘when you are once more free, and in a position—actually in a position to claim the annuity that would be the making of you, I am compelled to come to you, and beseech you to undo yourself again, merely to save me!’