“What is it, dear one?  Have you had bad news?  A telegram from Rockhold?  Either of the old people had a stroke?  Tell me, dear?”

“Nothing—­has—­happened,” she answered, giving each word with a gasp.

“Then what troubles you, dear?  Tell me, wife! tell me!  I am your husband!” he whispered, smoothing her black hair, and gazing with infinite tenderness on her troubled face.

“Oh, Rule!  Rule!  Rule!” she moaned, closing her eyes, that could not bear his gaze.

“Tell me, dear,” he murmured, gently, continuing to stroke her hair.

“I am—­nervous—­Rule,” she breathed.  “I shall get over it—­presently.  Give me—­a little time,” she gasped.

“Nervous?” He gazed down on her woe-writhen face, with its closed eyes that would not meet his own.  Yes, doubtless she was nervous—­very nervous—­but she was more than that.  Mere nervousness never blanched a woman’s face, wrung her features or convulsed her form like this.

“Cora, look at me, dear.  There is something I have to say to you.”

She forced herself to lift her eyelids and meet the honest, truthful eyes that looked down into hers.

“Cora,” he said, with a certain grave yet sweet tone of authority, “there is some great burden on your mind, dear—­a burden too heavy for you to bear alone.”

“Oh, it is! it is! it is!” she wailed, as if the words had broken from her without her knowledge.

“Then let me share it,” he pleaded.

“Oh, Rule!  Rule!  Rule!” she wailed, dropping her head upon his breast.

“Is your trouble so bitter, dear?  What is it, Cora?  It can be nothing that I may not share and relieve.  Tell me, dear.”

“Oh, Rule, bear with me!  I did not wish to distress you with my folly, my madness.  Do not mind it, Rule.  It will pass away.  Indeed, it will.  I will do my duty by you.  I will be a true wife to you, after all.  Only do not disturb your own righteous spirit about me, do not notice my moods; and give me time.  I shall come all right.  I shall be to you—­all that you wish me to be.  But, for the Lord’s love, Rule, give me time!” she pleaded, with voice and eyes so full of woe that the man’s heart sank in his bosom.

He grew pale and withdrew his arm from her neck.  She lifted her head from his breast then and leaned back in the corner of the sofa.  She trembled with fear now, lest she had betrayed her secret, which she had resolved to keep for his own sake.  She looked and waited for his words.  He was very still, pale and grave.  Presently he spoke very gently to the grieving woman.

“Dear, you have said too much and too little.  Tell me all now, Cora.  It is best that you should, dear.”

“Rule! oh, Rule! must I? must I?” she pleaded, wringing her hands.

“Yes, Cora; it is best, dear.”

“Oh, I would have borne anything to have spared you this.  But—­I betrayed myself.  Oh, Rule, please try to forget what you have seen and heard.  Bear with me for a little while.  Give me some little time to get over this, and you shall see how truly I will do my duty—­how earnestly I will try to make you happy,” she prayed.