I found Janet Leighton, and we made friends.  And I love farm-work—­and I love Janet—­and the whole world looks so different to me!  Why, of course, I didn’t want to be reminded of that old horrible life!  I didn’t want people to say, ’Mrs. Delane?  Who and where is her husband?  Is he dead?’ ‘No—­she’s divorced.’  ‘Why?’ There’s!—­don’t you see?—­all the old vile business over again!  So I cut it all!”

She paused—­resuming in another voice—­hesitating and uncertain,—­

“And yet—­it seems—­you can’t do a simple thing like that without—­hurting somebody—­injuring somebody.  I can’t help it!  I didn’t mean to deceive you.  But I had a right to get free from the old life if I could!”

She threw back her head proudly.  Her eyes were full of tears.  Then she rose impetuously.

“There!—­I’ve told you.  I suppose you don’t want to be friends with me any more.  It was rotten of me, I know, for, of course—­I saw—­you seemed to be getting to care for me.  I told Janet when we set up work together that I wasn’t a bad woman.  And I’m not.  But I’m weak.  You’d better not trust me.  And besides—­I fell into the mud—­and I expect it sticks to me still!”

She spoke with passionate animation—­almost fierceness.  While through her inner mind there ran the thought, “I’ve told him!—­I’ve told him!  If he doesn’t understand, it’s not my fault.  I can always say, ’I did tell you—­about Roger—­and the rest!—­as much as I was bound to tell you.’  Why should I make him miserable—­and destroy my own chances with him for nothing?”

They stood fronting each other.  Over the fine bronzed face of the forester there ran a ripple of profound emotion—­nostril and lip—­and eye.  Then she found herself in his arms—­with no power to resist or free herself.  Two or three deep, involuntary sobs—­sobs of excitement—­shook her, as she felt his kisses on her cheek.

“Darling!—­I’ll try and make up to you—­for all you’ve suffered.  Poor child!—­poor little Rachel!”

She clung to him, a great wave of passion sweeping through her also.  She thought, “Now I shall be happy!—­and I shall make him happy, too.  Of course I shall!—­I’m doing quite right.”

Presently he put her back in her chair, and sat beside her on the low fender stool, in front of the fire.  His aspect was completely transformed.  The triumphant joy which filled him had swept away the slightly stiff and reserved manner which was on the whole natural to him.  And it had swept away at the same time all the doubts and hesitations of his inner mind.  She had told her story, it seemed to him, with complete frankness, and a humility which appealed to all that was chivalrous and generous in a strong man.  He was ready now to make more excuses for her, in the matter of his own misleading, than she seemed to wish to make for herself.  How natural that she should act as she had acted!  The thought of her suffering, of her ill-treatment was intolerable to him—­and of the brute who had inflicted it.