'
'It may be, madam,' said Sir John; 'nor have I presumed to think the
contrary.'
'You will not believe me?' she cried. 'You think I am a guilty
wife? You think he was my lover?'
'Madam,' returned the Baronet, 'when I tore up my papers, I promised
your good husband to concern myself no more with your affairs; and I
assure you for the last time that I have no desire to judge you.'
'But you will not acquit me! Ah!' she cried, 'HE will - he knows me
better!'
Sir John smiled.
'You smile at my distress?' asked Seraphina.
'At your woman's coolness,' said Sir John. 'A man would scarce have
had the courage of that cry, which was, for all that, very natural,
and I make no doubt quite true. But remark, madam - since you do me
the honour to consult me gravely - I have no pity for what you call
your distresses. You have been completely selfish, and now reap the
consequence. Had you once thought of your husband, instead of
singly thinking of yourself, you would not now have been alone, a
fugitive, with blood upon your hands, and hearing from a morose old
Englishman truth more bitter than scandal.'
'I thank you,' she said, quivering. 'This is very true. Will you
stop the carriage?'
'No, child,' said Sir John, 'not until I see you mistress of
yourself.'
There was a long pause, during which the carriage rolled by rock and
woodland.
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