had passed between them, but those pressings of the hand,
those mute marks of sympathy which we all know so well how to give
when we long to lighten the sorrows which are too deep to be probed
by words. But on this evening after their dinner, Caroline called
Adela into her room, and then there was once more confidence between
them.

"No, no, Adela, I will never go back to him." Caroline went on
protesting; "you will not ask me to do that?"

"Those whom God has joined together, let not man put asunder," said
Adela, solemnly.

"Ah, yes; those whom God _has_ joined. But did God join us?"

"Oh, Caroline; do not speak so."

"But, Adela, do not misunderstand me. Do not think that I want to
excuse what I have done; or even to escape the penalty. I have
destroyed myself as regards this world. All is over for me here. When
I brought myself to stand at that altar with a man I never loved;
whom I knew I never could love--whom I never tried, and never would
try to love--when I did that, I put myself beyond the pale of all
happines. Do not think that I hope for any release." And Lady
Harcourt looked stern enough in her resolution to bear all that fate
could bring on her.

"Caroline, God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb, now as always
if you will ask him."

"I hope so; I hope so, Adela."

"Say that you trust so."

"I do trust. I trust in this--that He will do what is best. Oh,
Adela! if you could know what the last month has been; since he came
to the house!"

"Ah! why did he ever come?"

"Why, indeed! Did a man ever behave so madly?"

The man she here alluded was Sir Henry Harcourt, not Mr. Bertram.

"But I am glad of it, dearest; very glad. Is it not better so? The
truth has been spoken now. I have told him all."

"You mean Sir Henry?"

"Yes, I told him all before I left. But it was nothing new, Adela. He
knew it before. He never dreamed that I loved him. He knew, he must
have known that I hated him."

"Oh, Caroline, Caroline! do not speak like that."

"And would not you have hated him had you been tied to him? Now that
sin will be over. I shall hate him no longer now."

"Such hatred is a crime. Say what you will, he is still your
husband."

"I deny it. What! when he called me by that name, was he my husband
then? Was that a husband's usage? I must carry his name, and wearily
walk with that burden to the grave. Such is my penalty for that day's
sin. I must abandon all hope of living as other women