She opened her eyes and
caught the fleeting look of shame and remorse. "Ah," she cried, "you
_have_ a heart, after all. I saw it then. Tom, you _did_ love me, years
ago--you were fine and strong and true. You were yourself. You have
changed, but I can still see something of the strong, manly Tom
Braddock _I_ loved in those wonderful days."
He was scowling again, but she had seen through the mask. She went on
eagerly: "You are obsessed by this idea of vengeance. What can it mean
to you, after all is said and done? You say you are going to end your
own life, as well. You will escape the consequences, as any coward
would, and you are _not_ a coward. Who stays behind to suffer all
the pain and anguish? Not you! Oh, no! I am the one--as if you had not
already done enough. Christine and I! We--"
"I won't listen to you!" he cried, his breast heaving.
"You are listening! You can't help it. Come! You must sit down here
beside me. This is the one, great, solitary hour in your life."
[Illustration: "This is the one, great, solitary hour in your life"]
He drew back and permitted an irrelevant question to break from his
lips: "Why didn't you divorce me?"
"Because I married you, Tom, that is why! I'll always be your wife.
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