his
property would be hers for her life, and would go to their child when
she was dead. To her this will was more than just,--it was generous
in the confidence which it placed in her; and he told his lawyer, in
her presence, that, to the best of his judgment, he need not change
it. But still there passed hardly a day in which he did not make some
allusion to the great wrong which he had endured, throwing in her
teeth the confessions which she had made,--and almost accusing her
of that which she certainly never had confessed, even when, in the
extremity of her misery at Casalunga, she had thought that it little
mattered what she said, so that for the moment he might be appeased.
If he died, was he to die in this belief? If he lived, was he to live
in this belief? And if he did so believe, was it possible that he
should still trust her with his money and with his child?

"Emily," he said one day, "it has been a terrible tragedy, has it
not?" She did not answer his question, sitting silent as it was her
custom to do when he addressed her after such fashion as this. At
such times she would not answer him; but she knew that he would
press her for an answer. "I blame him more than I do you," continued
Trevelyan,--"infinitely more. He was a serpent intending to sting me
from the first,--not knowing perhaps how deep the sting would go."
There was no question in this, and the assertion was one which had
been made so often that she could let it pass. "You are young, Emily,
and it may be that you will marry again."

"Never," she said, with a shudder. It seemed to her then that
marriage was so fearful a thing that certainly she could never
venture upon it again.

"All I ask of you is, that should you do so, you will be more careful
of your husband's honour."

"Louis," she said, getting up and standing close to him, "tell me
what it is that you mean." It was now his turn to remain silent,
and hers to demand an answer. "I have borne much," she continued,
"because I would not vex you in your illness."

"You have borne much?"

"Indeed and indeed, yes. What woman has ever borne more!"

"And I?" said he.

"Dear Louis, let us understand each other at last. Of what do you
accuse me? Let us, at any rate, know each other's thoughts on this
matter, of which each of us is ever thinking."

"I make no new accusation."

"I must protest then against your using words which seem to convey
accusation. Since marriages were first known up