“Yes,” said Ashe, hoarsely.  “I heard that she was apparently very ill when she reached Treviso, but that she had rallied under Alice’s nursing.  Lady Alice wrote to my mother.”

“Did she tell Lady Tranmore anything of Lady Kitty’s state of mind?” said the Dean, after a pause.

Ashe also was slow in answering.  At last he said: 

“I understand there has been great regret for the past.”

“Regret!” cried the Dean.  “If ever there was a terrible case of the dealings of God with a human soul—­”

He began to walk up and down impetuously, wrestling with emotion.

“Did she give you any explanation,” said Ashe, presently, in a voice scarcely audible—­“of their meeting at Verona?  You know my mother believed—­that she had broken with him—­that all was saved.  Then came a letter from the maid, written at Kitty’s direction, to say that she had left her mistress—­and they had started for Bosnia.”

“No; I tried.  But she seemed to shrink with horror from everything to do with Verona.  I have always supposed that fellow in some way got the information he wanted—­bought it no doubt—­and pursued her.  But that she honestly meant to break with him I have no doubt at all.”

Ashe said nothing.

“Think,” said the Dean, “of the effect of that man’s sudden appearance—­of his romantic and powerful personality—­your wife alone, miserable—­doubting your love for her—­”

Ashe raised his hand with a gesture of passion.

“If she had had the smallest love left for me she could have protected herself!  I had written to her—­she knew—­”

His voice broke.  The Dean’s face quivered.

“My dear fellow—­God knows—­” He broke off.  When he recovered composure he said: 

“Let us go back to Lady Kitty.  Regret is no word to express what I saw.  She is consumed by remorse night and day.  She is also still—­as far as my eyes can judge—­desperately ill.  There is probably lung trouble caused by the privations of the winter.  And the whole nervous system is shattered.”

Ashe looked up.  His aspect showed the effect of the words.

“Every provision shall be made for her,” he said, in a voice muffled and difficult.  “Lady Alice has been told already to spare no expense—­to do everything that can be done.”

“There is only one thing that can be done for her,” said the Dean.

Ashe did not speak.

“There is only one thing that you or any one else could do for her,” the Dean repeated, slowly, “and that is to love—­and forgive her!” His voice trembled.

“Was it her wish that you should come to me?” said Ashe, after a moment.