on her bosom; her helpless hands lay trembling
on her lap. Overpowered by the confession which she had just heard--a
confession which had followed closely on the thoughts inspired by the
appearance of the child--her agitation was beyond control; her mind was
unequal to the effort of decision. The woman who had been wronged--who
had the right to judge for herself, and to speak for herself--was the
silent woman of the two!

It was not quite dark yet. Sydney could see as well as hear.

For the first time since the beginning of the interview, she allowed the
impulse of the moment to lead her astray. In her eagerness to complete
the act of atonement, she failed to appreciate the severity of the
struggle that was passing in Catherine's mind. She alluded again to
Herbert Linley, and she spoke too soon.

"Will you let him ask your pardon?" she said. "He expects no more."

Catherine's spirit was roused in an instant. "He expects too much!" she
answered, sternly. "Is he here by your connivance? Is he, too, waiting
to take me by surprise?"

"I am incapable, madam, of taking such a liberty with you as that; I may
perhaps have hoped to be able to tell him, by writing, of a different
reception--" She checked herself. "I beg your pardon, if I have ventured
to hope. I dare not ask you to alter your opinion--"

"Do you dare to look the truth in the face?" Catherine interposed. "Do
you remember what sacred ties that man has broken? what memories he has
profaned? what years of faithful love he has cast from him? Must I tell
you how he poisoned his wife's mind with doubts of his truth and despair
of his honor, when he basely deserted her? You talk of your repentance.
Does your repentance forget that he would still have been my blameless
husband but for you?"

Sydney silently submitted to reproach, silently endured the shame that
finds no excuse for itself.

Catherine looked at her and relented. The noble nature which could stoop
to anger, but never sink to the lower depths of malice and persecution,
restrained itself and made amends. "I say it in no unkindness to you,"
she resumed. "But when you ask me to forgive, consider what you ask me
to forget. It will only distress us both if we remain longer together,"
she continued, rising as she spoke. "Perhaps you will believe that I
mean well, when I ask if there is anything I can do for you?"

"Nothing!"

All the desolation of the lost woman told its terrible tale in that one
word.