Horncastle again burst into tears. And then, with her head
half drawn towards his shoulder, she told him all,--all that had passed
between her and her husband,--even all that they had then but hinted at.
It was as if she felt she could now, for the first time, voice all these
terrible memories of the past which had come back to her last night when
her husband had left her. She concealed nothing, she veiled nothing;
there were intervals when her tears no longer flowed, and a cruel
hardness and return of her old imperiousness of voice and manner took
their place, as if she was doing a rigid penance and took a bitter
satisfaction in laying bare her whole soul to him. "I never had a
friend," she whispered; "there were women who persecuted me with their
jealous sneers; there were men who persecuted me with their selfish
affections. When I first saw YOU, you seemed something so apart and
different from all other men that, although I scarcely knew you, I
wanted to tell you, even then, all that I have told you now. I wanted
you to be my friend; something told me that you could,--that you could
separate me from my past; that you could tell me what to do; that you
could make me think as you thought, see life as YOU saw it, and trust
always to some goodness in people as YOU did. And in this faith I
thought that you would understand me now, and even forgive me all."
She made a slight movement as if to disengage his arm, and, possibly,
to look into his eyes, which she knew instinctively were bent upon her
downcast head.
Pages:
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225