He glanced up. Beth was leaning out of the lofty window…. More than ever it was like death to him—the old newspaper days when he was first at death—the mute face aloft, the gesture, the instant vanishing, when he was seen to comprehend.
Her door was ajar. She called for him to come in, as he halted in the hall. Beth came forth from the little room, after a moment, and stood before him, leaning against the piano. Her face was grayish-white, but she was controlled.
"Once you told me you loved me," she said. "A happy man should be ready to do something for a woman he once told that."
"Anything, Beth."
"It came forth from your happiness—so suddenly. You have found me out…. You made me see—that I believed the lie of a worthless woman——"
She halted. The last words had a familiar ring.
"I believed a despicable thing of Andrew Bedient—and sent him away…. He must never know. I could not live and have him know that I believed it. I am paying. I shall pay. I only ask you to keep it, forever—all that you saw—all that was said—to-day——"
"I will keep it, Beth."
"Even from Vina. Vina is pure. He would read it in her eyes—if she knew. I wonder that he loved me…. God!… You have enough of the world left—to bury this evil thing—for me. I am glad of your happiness."
"Vina will want to see you to-day."