She knew him, and writhing herself away from Morris’ arms, she raised up in bed and said to him: 

“I’ve been at the bottom of things, and Genevra is not in that grave at St. Mary’s.  Nobody is there; consequently, she is living, and you are not my husband.  So if you please you can leave the house at once.  Morris will do very well.  He will settle the estate, and no bill shall be sent in for your board and lodging.”

In some moods Wilford would have smiled at being thus summarily dismissed from his own house and assured that no bill should be sent after him for board and lodging; but he was too sore now, too sensitive to smile, and his voice was rather severe as he laid his hand on Katy’s, and said: 

“Don’t be foolish, Katy.  Don’t you know me?  I am Wilford, your husband.”

“That was, you mean,” Katy rejoined, drawing her hand quickly away.  “Go find your first love, where bullets fall like hail, and where there is pain, and blood, and carnage.  Genevra is there.”

She would not let Wilford come near her, and grew so excited by his presence that he was forced either to leave the room or sit where she could not see him.  He chose the latter, and from his seat by the door watched with a half-jealous, half-angry heart, Morris Grant doing for his wife what he should have done.

With Morris Katy was gentle as a little child, talking still of Genevra, but talking quietly, and in a way which did not wear her out as fast as her excitement did.

“What God hath joined together let not man put asunder,” was the text from which she preached several short sermons as the night wore on, but just as the morning dawned she fell into the first quiet sleep she had had during the last twenty-four hours.  And while she slept Wilford ventured near enough to see the sunken cheeks and hollow eyes which wrung a groan from him as he turned to Morris, asking what he supposed was the immediate cause of her sudden illness?

“A terrible shock, the nature of which I understand, but you have nothing to fear from me,” Morris replied.  “I accuse you to no man, but leave you to settle it with your conscience whether you did right to deceive her so long.”

Morris spoke as one having authority, and Wilford simply bowed his head, feeling then no resentment toward one who had ventured to reprove him.  Afterward he might remember it differently, but now he was too anxious to keep Morris there to quarrel with him, and so he made no reply, but sat watching Katy as she slept, wondering if she would die, and feeling how terrible life would be without her.  Suddenly Genevra’s warning words rang in his ear: 

“God will not forgive you for the wrong you have done me.”

Was Genevra right?  Had God remembered all this time, and overtaken him at last?  It might be, and with a groan Wilford hid his face in his hands, believing that he repented of his sin, and not knowing that his fancied repentance arose merely from the fact that he had been detected.  Could the last few days be blotted out, and Katy stand just where she did, with no suspicion of him, he would have cast his remorse to the winds, and as it is not such repentance God accepts, Wilford had only begun to sip the cup of retribution presented to his lips.