Then very gently she put out her hand to him, and he took it and
held it for a minute. She looked up at him as though for a moment
she had thought that there might be something else,--that there
might be some other token of true forgiveness, and then she withdrew
her hand. 'I had better go now,' she said. 'Good-night; George.'

'Good-night, Marie.' And then she was gone.

As soon as he was alone he sat himself down on the bedside, and
began to think of it. Everything was changed to him since he had
called her into the room, determining that he would crush her with
his thunderbolt. Let things go as they may with a man in an affair
of love, let him be as far as possible from the attainment of his
wishes, there will always be consolation to him if he knows that he
is loved. To be preferred to all others, even though that
preference may lead to no fruition, is in itself a thing enjoyable.
He had believed that Marie had forgotten him,--that she had been
captivated either by the effeminate prettiness of his rival, or by
his wealth and standing in the world. He believed all this no more.
He knew now how it was with her and with him, and, let his
countenance say what it might to the contrary, he could bring
himself to forgive her in his heart. She had not forgotten him!
She had not ceased to love him! There was merit in that which went
far with him in excuse of her perfidy.

But what should he do now? She was not as yet married to Adrian
Urmand. Might there not still be hope; hope for her sake as well as
for his own? He perfectly understood that in his country--nay, for
aught he knew to the contrary, in all countries--a formal betrothal