"You did not think it absurd at first," he answered.
"I was overwhelmed. I had no time to consider."
"Don't speak of that day," and she shuddered. "If I were to live a thousand years, there never could be another so horrible."
He had risen to go. He stood a moment silent. Then:
"You are so reassuring," he said. "Yet, how can either of us be assured? Perhaps you are my wife."
"Never," she said, and looked at him with a sudden coldness in her face.
"If a minister has married us," he answered, "nobody has yet unmarried us."
The gravity of her expression impressed him.
"God has not married us," she said. "I shall never admit that." There was a moment's silence. "Poor Katie!" she added.
"You remember that?" she asked. "It would not be strange if you forgot everybody but Katie, and yourself."
"It would be strange if I forgot you, since you are,--what you are."
"I foresee," she answered, "that we shall be good friends. By and by, when you and Katie are well established in your beautiful new house I shall visit you there; Katie invited me long ago, and you and I are going to be good friends."
Although Elizabeth had been so brave before Archdale, yet as soon as he had gone she sank into her chair and covered her face with her hands, as if by this she could shut out the visions of him from her mind. She lived in the land of the Puritans, and Indiana had not been discovered. She knew that those words which ought to have been so sacred but which she had spoken so lightly were no longer light to her, but that in the depths of her heart they weighed like lead and gave her a sense of guilt that she could not throw off. Even if they proved nothing in law, they had already brought a terrible punishment, and if,--if--. With a low cry she started up. Life had grown black again. But she was not accustomed to give way to emotions, still less to forebodings. In a few moments she went back to her embroidery, and to Mrs. Eveleigh.
Archdale left Mr. Royal's house with a new comprehension of the woman he had married in jest. Somehow, he had always considered that Katie and he were really the only sufferers. Young, petted, rich, and handsome, it had not come forcibly home to him before, however much his courtesy might have assumed it, that this young woman whom, though he thought she did well enough, he had no high opinion of, could actually suffer in the idea of being his wife. But he saw it now through all her brave bearing, and his vanity received its death-wound that morning.