"Nervous?" He gazed down on her woe-writhen face, with its closed eyes that would not meet his own. Yes, doubtless she was nervous--very nervous--but she was more than that. Mere nervousness never blanched a woman's face, wrung her features or convulsed her form like this.

"Cora, look at me, dear. There is something I have to say to you."

She forced herself to lift her eyelids and meet the honest, truthful eyes that looked down into hers.

"Cora," he said, with a certain grave yet sweet tone of authority, "there is some great burden on your mind, dear--a burden too heavy for you to bear alone."

"Oh, it is! it is! it is!" she wailed, as if the words had broken from her without her knowledge.

"Then let me share it," he pleaded.

"Oh, Rule! Rule! Rule!" she wailed, dropping her head upon his breast.

"Is your trouble so bitter, dear? What is it, Cora? It can be nothing that I may not share and relieve. Tell me, dear."

"Oh, Rule, bear with me! I did not wish to distress you with my folly, my madness. Do not mind it, Rule. It will pa.s.s away. Indeed, it will. I will do my duty by you. I will be a true wife to you, after all. Only do not disturb your own righteous spirit about me, do not notice my moods; and give me time. I shall come all right. I shall be to you--all that you wish me to be. But, for the Lord's love, Rule, give me time!" she pleaded, with voice and eyes so full of woe that the man's heart sank in his bosom.

He grew pale and withdrew his arm from her neck. She lifted her head from his breast then and leaned back in the corner of the sofa. She trembled with fear now, lest she had betrayed her secret, which she had resolved to keep for his own sake. She looked and waited for his words.

He was very still, pale and grave. Presently he spoke very gently to the grieving woman.

"Dear, you have said too much and too little. Tell me all now, Cora. It is best that you should, dear."

"Rule! oh, Rule! must I? must I?" she pleaded, wringing her hands.

"Yes, Cora; it is best, dear."

"Oh, I would have borne anything to have spared you this. But--I betrayed myself. Oh, Rule, please try to forget what you have seen and heard. Bear with me for a little while. Give me some little time to get over this, and you shall see how truly I will do my duty--how earnestly I will try to make you happy," she prayed.

"I know, dear--I know you will be a good, dear wife, and a dearly loved and fondly cherished wife. But begin, dear, by giving me your confidence. There can be no real union without confidence between husband and wife, my Cora. Surely, you may trust me, dear," he said, with serious tenderness.

"Yes; I can trust you. I will trust you with all, through all, Rule. You are wise and good. You will forgive me and help me to do right." She spoke so wildly and so excitedly that he laid his hand tenderly, soothingly, on her head, and begged her to be calm and to confide in him without hesitation.

Then she told him all.

What a story for a newly-married husband to hear from his wife on the evening of their wedding day!

He listened in silence, and without moving a muscle of his face or form.

When he had heard all he arose from the sofa, stood up, then reeled to an arm chair near at hand and dropped heavily into it, his huge, stalwart frame as weak from sudden faintness as that of an infant.

"Oh, Rule! Rule! your anger is just! It is just!" cried Cora, wringing her hands in despair.

He looked at her in great trouble, but his beautiful eyes expressed only the most painful compa.s.sion. He could not answer her. He could not trust himself to speak yet. His breast was heaving, working tumultuously. His tawny-bearded chin was quivering. He shut his lips firmly together, and tried to still the convulsion of his frame.

"Oh, Rule, be angry with me, blame me, reproach me, for I am to blame--bitterly, bitterly to blame. But do not hate me, for I love you, Rule, with a sister's love. And forgive me, Rule--not just now, for that would be impossible, perhaps. But, oh! do forgive me after a while, Rule, for I do repent--oh, I do repent that treason of the heart--that treason against one so worthy of the truest love and honor which woman gives to man. You will forgive me--after a while--after a--probation?"

She paused and looked wistfully at his grave, pained, patient face.

He could not yet answer her.

"Oh, if you will give me time, Rule, I will--I will banish every thought, every memory of my--my--my season in London, and will devote myself to you with all my heart and soul. No man ever had, or ever could have, a more devoted wife than I will be to you, if you will only trust me and be happy, Rule. Oh!" she suddenly burst forth, seeing that he did not reply to her, "you are bitterly angry with me. You hate me. You cannot forgive me. You blame me without mercy. And you are right. You are right."

Now he forced himself to speak, though in a low and broken voice.

"Angry? With you, Cora? No, dear, no."

"You blame me, though. You must blame me," she sobbed.

"Blame you? No, dear. You have not been to blame," he faltered, faintly, for he was an almost mortally wounded man.

"Ah! what do you mean? Why do you speak to me so kindly, so gently? I could bear your anger, your reproaches, Rule, better than this tenderness, that breaks my heart with shame and remorse!" cried Cora, bursting into a pa.s.sion of sobs and tears.

He did not come near her to take her in his arms and comfort her as before. A gulf had opened between them which he felt that he could not pa.s.s, but he spoke to her very gently and compa.s.sionately.

"Do not grieve so bitterly, dear," he said. "Do not accuse yourself so unjustly. You have done no wrong to me, or to any human being. You have done nothing but good to me, and to every human being in your reach. To me you have been more than tongue can tell--my first friend, my muse, my angel, my inspiration to all that is best, greatest, highest in human life--the goal of all my earthly, all my heavenly aspirations. That I should love you with a pure, single, ardent pa.s.sion of enthusiasm was natural, was inevitable. But that you, dear, should mistake your feelings toward me, mistake sisterly affection, womanly sympathy, intellectual appreciation, for that living fire of eternal love which only should unite man and woman, was natural, too, though most unfortunate. I am not fair to look upon, Cora. I have no form, no comeliness, that any one should--"

He was suddenly interrupted by the girl, who sprang from her seat and sank at his feet, clasped his knees, and dropped her head upon his hands in a tempest of sobs and tears, crying:

"Oh, Rule! I never did deserve your love! I never was worthy of you! And I long have known it. But I do love you! I do love you! Oh, give me time and opportunity to prove it!" she pleaded, with many tears, saying the same words over and over again, or words with the same meaning.

He laid both his large hands softly on her bowed head and held them there with a soothing, quieting, mesmeric touch, until she had sobbed, and cried, and talked herself into silence, and then he said:

"No, Cora! No, dear! You are good and true to the depths of your soul; but you deceive yourself. You do not love me. It is not your fault. You cannot do so! You pity, you esteem, you appreciate; and you mistake these sentiments as you mistook sisterly affection for such love as only should sanctify the union of man and woman."

"But I will, Rule. I will love you even so! Give me time! A little time!

I am your own," she pleaded.

"No, dear, no. I am sure that you would do your best, at any cost to yourself. You would consecrate your life to one whom yet you do not love, because you cannot love. But the sacrifice is too great, dear--a sacrifice which no woman should ever make for any cause, which no man should ever accept under any circ.u.mstances. You must not immolate yourself on my unworthy shrine, Cora."

"Oh, Rule! What do you mean? You frighten me! What do you intend to do?"

exclaimed Cora, with a new fear in her heart.

"I will tell you later, dear, when we are both quieter. And, Cora, promise me one thing--for your own sake, dear."

"I will promise you anything you wish, Rule. And be glad to do so. Glad to do anything that will please you," she earnestly a.s.sured him.

"Then promise that whatever may happen, you will never tell any human being what you have told me to-night."

"I promise this on my honor, Rule."

"Promise that you will never repeat one word of this interview between us to any living being."

"I promise this, also, on my honor, Rule."

"That is all I ask, and it is exacted for your own sake, dear. The fair name of a woman is so white and pure that the smallest speck can be seen upon it. And now, dear, it is nearly eleven o'clock. Will you ring for your maid and go to your room? I have letters to write--in the library--which, I think, will occupy me the whole night," he said, as he took her hand and gently raised her to her feet.

At that moment a servant entered, bringing a card.

Mr. Rothsay took it toward the portiere and read it by the light of the chandelier in the front room.