"You were happy till you came here," said Leo, brokenly. "You loved Maud--at least you thought you did, and she, she still thinks she loves you. She----"
"Hush--no more. You must not say such things, Leo." He was calm no longer; the sweat broke out upon his brow.
"But it is the truth. Oh, it is--it is the truth."
"There are truths that must not be spoken. You must not, you shall not say what you would repent of all your life."
"Who is to speak if I do not? I am the only one----"
"Am I fallen so low that I would let _you_ proclaim the secrets of my coward heart? If _my_ lips are sealed, so shall _yours_ be," he cried, in great agitation. "If I have made a terrible mistake, it is my own mistake, and I shall abide by it."
"Paul--Paul,--" she clung more closely to him. "Say you forgive me, Paul."
"There is nothing to forgive. Take care. You nearly fell, Leo. Try to look where you are going in this dim light." The accents of forced composure fell like cold lead upon her heart. She had touched him for a moment, and a nerve had vibrated to her touch--but he was slipping from her again. He continued:--
"Since your penetration has discovered----"
"That, if you will." He bent his head. "I cannot, I dare not deny it. It _is_ the truth, God help me--God help us both."
"Maud and me. I have done her a great wrong, but it shall be the aim of my life to repair it. She shall find me a true and faithful husband----"
"I loved her once--I shall learn to love her again."
"You will be wretched, miserable--and so will she, now that you know the truth. I would have spared you. I meant to give my life to spare you--oh, Paul, you know I did," she wept passionately--"but now, now when you yourself would not let me do it----"
"Try to hear me. Try to understand me. Leo, there is a greater thing than Love."
"There is." He drew a breath, a long, deep breath. "There is Honour."
She was silent. The tears hung on her cheeks.
"I have lost all besides," said he, simply, "but I have kept that, and will keep it." He paused, and continued: "If Maud were different, other things might also be different, but you know your sister; to break faith with her would be--she could not endure it. I have taught her to believe that I am wholly hers, and she has never seen nor guessed that--that a change has come. And however acutely Maud would feel that, if she knew--which, so help me God, she never shall--she would be infinitely more distressed, more humiliated--her pride--her self-respect--no, it is not to be thought of." He was now walking on alone, and so fast that she could scarcely keep pace with him. She could catch only broken utterances--some perhaps not meant for her. It appeared as though he had forgotten her presence.