"Well," she answered, looking into his eyes. "You saw!"
He cried desperately, "I saw him kiss you. You let him. What did it
mean?"
"Why do you ask? If you saw you know."
"I don't know. I want to know. Tell me, explain to me." He paused,
and then cried with a pitiful note of pleading, "Tell me it wasn't so.
Tell me I made a mistake."
He was willing, anxious, for her to lie. Against the evidence of his
own senses he would have made himself believe her, drugged his pain
with her falsehoods. What remnant of consideration she had vanished.
"You made no mistake," she answered. "It was as you saw."
"I don't believe it. I can't. You wouldn't have done it. It's I
you're promised to. Haven't I your word? Haven't you been kind as an
angel to me when the others would have let me die out here like a dog?
What did you do it for if you didn't care?"
"I was sorry," and then with cold, measured slowness, "and I felt
guilty."
"That's it--you felt guilty. It's not your doing. You've been led
away. While I've been sick that devil's been poisoning you against me.
He's tried to steal you from me.
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