"
"A man that suspects his wife, deserves to lose her allegiance," cried
Margaret, with a kind of triumphant imputation of blame, which was her
betrayal.
He gazed at her with the dawning horror of half-conviction.
"Then I have lost yours?" he asked, in a tone stricken with doubt and
dread.
"I didn't say so," she replied, reddening.
"But your words imply that. You seemed to be justifying yourself by my
suspicion. But there was no suspicion till now--nothing but a
tormenting fancy of what I believed impossible. So you cannot excuse
yourself that way."
"I'm not trying to excuse myself. There's nothing to excuse."
"I'm not sure of that! Your manner looks as if you realised having
said too much--having betrayed yourself. Margaret, for God's sake,
tell me 'tis not so! Tell me my fears are wrong! Assure me I have not
lost you--no, no, I won't even ask you. 'Tis not possible. I won't
believe it of you--that you could be inconstant! Forgive me,
dear--your strange manner has so upset me--but forgive me, I beg, and
let me take you in my arms." He had risen to approach her.
"No, no! Don't. Don't touch me!" she cried, rising in turn, for
resistance. She kept her mind fixed upon the expected rewards of her
project, and so fortified herself against yielding.
"By heaven, I'll know what this means!" he cried. He looked wildly
about the room, as if the explanation might somewhere there be found.
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