CHAPTER III.

THE TIME OF TRIAL.


Meanwhile he was waiting for my answer. I stepped forward, intending to
take his hand, but the stains drove me back again. Where so much depends
upon a right--or a mis-understanding, the only way is to speak the fair
truth. I did so; by a sort of forced calm holding back the seething of
my brain.

"George, I should like to touch you, but--I cannot! I beg you to forgive
the selfishness of my grief--my mind is confused--I shall be better
soon. God has sent us a great sorrow, in which I know you are
as innocent as I am. I am very sorry--I think that is all." And I put my
hand to my head, where a sharp pain was beginning to throb. Mr. Manners
spoke, emphatically--

"God bless you, Dorolice! You know I promised. Thank you, for
ever!"

"If you fancy you have any reason to thank me," I said, "do me this
favour. Whatever happens, believe that I believe!"

I could bear no more, so I went out of the kitchen. As I went I heard a
murmur of pity run through the room, and I knew that they were