She was leaning her arms against the wall and her head against her arms.
“Oh, I was mad, John, and I think I had no heart—then. You must have heard; they must have given you some reason for this.”
The wrath in him flashed out for an instant.
“Whether you were mad or not, child, I have no need to ask. They had put me off with lies, and but for God’s mercy I should never have chanced upon the truth.”
He heard her move with a little sound of anguish in the throat.
“The truth—what truth?”
“Why, that you were never mad, Barbara; God even pardon me for uttering the word.”
“Mad—only that?”
“And does that mean nothing to me—to-night.”
She saw that he was only half wise as to the miserable intrigue that had let blood forth, blood that had dimmed her vision and filled her with a hate that now made her shudder. His tenderness would out, beating about her like mysterious movement in the air, making her dizzy and in terror of the past.