Half an hour or so elapsed, then, before Isobel returned; and, although she came into the room confidently enough, the old tension reasserted itself immediately.  I felt that commonplaces would choke me.  And although to this day I cannot condone my behavior, for the good of my soul I must confess the truth.

I took her in my arms, held her fast and kissed her.

An overwhelming consciousness of guilt came to me even as her lips met mine, and, releasing her, I turned aside, groaning.

“Isobel!” I said hoarsely—­“Isobel, forgive me!  I was a cad, a villain ... to him.  But—­it was inevitable.  Try to forget that I was so weak.  But, Isobel—­”

I felt her hand trembling on my arm.

“We must both try to forget, Jack,” she whispered.

I grasped her hands and looked eagerly—­indeed I think wildly—­into her eyes.

“Because my life is over if I lose you,” I said, “I suppose I was mad for a moment.  Tell me that one day—­when it is fit and proper that you should do so—­you will give me a hearing, and I will perform any penance you choose.  I acted like a blackguard.”

“Stop!” she commanded softly.

She raised her eyes, and her grave, sweet glance cooled the fever which consumed me and brought a great and abiding peace to my heart.

“You were no more to blame than I!” she said.  “And because—­I understand, it is not hard to forgive.  I don’t try to excuse myself, but even if—­he—­had lived, I could never have gone on with it, after his ... suspicions.  Oh, Jack! why did you leave me to make that awful mistake?”

“My dearest,” I replied, “God knows I have suffered for it.”

“Please,” she said, and her voice faltered, “help me to be fair to ... him.  Never—­never—­speak to me again—­like that ... until—­”

But the sentence was never completed; for at this moment in bustled Aunt Alison—­in appearance a white-haired, rosy-faced little matron, very brisk in her movements and very shrewd-eyed.  A dear old lady, dearer than ever to me in that she had tried so hard to bring Isobel and my laggard self together.  She had, as usual, more to say than could be said in the time at her disposal.  As we proceeded to the dining-room: 

“Now then, you boys and girls, I’m starving, if you’re not.  What a time I’ve had with cook, not knowing when you might be here.  Cook’s leaving to be married:  I’m afraid she’s neglected this sea-kale.  Dear, dear! what love will do for people’s minds, to be sure.  Put your hair straight, Isobel, dear, or Mary will think Jack has been kissing you!  I saw her kiss the postman yesterday.  Mary, I mean!  You’re eating like a pigeon, Jack!  Gracious me!  Where’s the pepper?  Mary!  Ring the bell, Isobel.  I must speak to that postman; he’s made Mary forget to put any pepper in the cruet, and any one might have seen them.  It isn’t respectable!”

“Dear Aunt Alison!” I said, as the active old lady ran out (Mary not being promptly enough in attendance).  “She loves to keep running in and out like a waiter!  What a friend she has been to me, Isobel!  You could not be in better company at such a time.”