his love for her she was sure, but not
of the man himself, the gentle, refined, lovable nature that mutely
worshipped and clung to her. She could not repulse him any more than she
could repulse a child. But through all her knowledge of him--the
knowledge of love, the only true knowledge of our fellow-creatures--a
thread of doubtful anxiety was interwoven. She could form some idea how
men like Dick, Lord Newhaven, or the Bishop would act in given
circumstances, but she could form no definite idea how Hugh would act in
the same circumstances. Yet she knew Hugh a thousand times better than
any of the others. Why was this? Many women before Rachel have sought
diligently to find, and have shut their eyes diligently, lest they
should discover what it is that is dark to them in the character of the
man they love.

Perhaps Rachel half knew all the time the subtle inequality in Hugh's
character. Perhaps she loved him all the better for it. Perhaps she knew
that if he had been without a certain undefinable weakness he would not
have been drawn towards her strength. She was stronger than he, and
perhaps she loved him more than she could have loved an equal.

"_Les esprits faibles ne sont jamais sinceres_." She had come across
that sentence one day in a book she was reading, and had turned suddenly
blind and cold with anger. "He is sincere," she said, fiercely, as if
repelling an accusation. "He would never deceive me." But no one had
accused Hugh.

The same evening he made the confession for which she had waited so
long. As he began to speak an intolerable suspense, like a new and acute
form of a familiar disease, lay hold on her. Was he going to live or
die. She should know at last. Was she to part with him, to bury love for
the second time? Or was she to keep him, to be his wife, the mother of
his children?

As he went on, his language becoming more confused; she hardly listened
to him. She had known all that too long. She had forgiven it, not
without tears; but still, she had forgiven it long ago. Then he stopped.
It seemed to Rachel as if she had reached a moment in life which she
could not bear. She waited, but still he did not speak. Then she was not
to know. She was to be ground between the millstones of four more
dreadful days and nights. She suddenly became aware, as she stared at
Hugh's blanching face, that he believed she was about to dismiss him.
The thought had never entered her mind.

"Do you not know that I l