Something in the tone of his voice reminded her of past days--the
days of perfect love and perfect confidence, when she had been
the one woman in the world to him. Dearly treasured remembrances
of her married life filled her heart with tenderness, and dimmed
with tears the angry light that had risen in her eyes. There was
no pride, no anger, in his wife when she spoke to him now.

"Oh, my husband, has she taken your love from me?"

"Judge for yourself, Catherine, if there is no proof of my love
for you in what I have resisted--and no remembrance of all that I
owe to you in what I have confessed."

She ventured a little nearer to him. "Can I believe you?"

"Put me to the test."

She instantly took him at his word. "When Miss Westerfield has
left us, promise not to see her again."

"I promise."

"And not even to write to her."

"I promise."

She went back to the writing-table. "My heart is easier," she
said, simply. "I can be merciful to her now."

After writing a few lines, she rose and handed the paper to him.