He was silent.
"If you are weary of our married life," she continued, "say so, and let
us part. I will go away, without entreaties and without reproaches.
Whatever pain I may feel, you shall not see it!" A passing flush
crossed her face, and left it pale again. She trembled under the
consciousness of returning love--the blind love that had so cruelly
misled her! At a moment when she most needed firmness, her heart was
sinking; she resisted, struggled, recovered herself. Quietly, and even
firmly, she claimed his decision. "Does your silence mean," she asked,
"that you wish me to leave you?"
No man who had loved her as tenderly as her husband had loved her,
could have resisted that touching self-control. He answered his wife
without uttering a word--he held out his arms to her. The fatal
reconciliation was accomplished in silence.
At dinner on that day Mr. Vimpany's bold eyes saw a new sight, and Mr.
Vimpany's rascally lips indulged in an impudent smile. My lady appeared
again in her place at the dinner-table. At the customary time, the two
men were left alone over their wine. The reckless Irish lord, rejoicing
in the recovery of his wife's tender regard, drank freely.
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