“Justine—this afternoon—I said things I didn’t mean to say.”
Her lips parted, but her throat was still full of sobs, and she could only look at him while the tears ran down.
“I believe I understand now,” he continued, in the same quiet tone.
Her hand shrank from his clasp, and she began to tremble again. “Oh, if you only believe … if you’re not sure … don’t pretend to be!”
He sat down beside her and drew her into his arms. “I am sure,” he whispered, holding her close, and pressing his lips against her face and hair.
“Oh, my husband—my husband! You’ve come back to me?”
He answered her with more kisses, murmuring through them: “Poor child—poor child—poor Justine.…” while he held her fast.
With her face against him she yielded to the childish luxury of murmuring out unjustified fears. “I was afraid you had gone back to Hanaford”
“Tonight? To Hanaford?”
“To tell your mother.”
She felt a contraction of the arm embracing her, as though a throb of pain had stiffened it.
.“I shall never tell any one,” he said abruptly; but as he felt in her a responsive shrinking he gathered
her close again, whispering through the hair that fell
[ 532 ]
