In the silence that followed he suddenly dropped on his knees at
my feet, with a cry of despair that cut through me like a knife.

"Valeria! I am vile--I am false--I am unworthy of you. Don't
believe a word of what I have been saying--lies, lies, cowardly,
contemptible lies! You don't know what I have gone through; you
don't know how I have been tortured. Oh, my darling, try not to
despise me! I must have been beside myself when I spoke to you as
I did. You looked hurt; you looked offended; I didn't know what
to do. I wanted to spare you even a moment's pain--I wanted to
hush it up, and have done with it. For God's sake don't ask me to
tell you any more! My love! my angel! it's something between my
mother and me; it's nothing that need disturb you; it's nothing
to anybody now. I love you, I adore you; my whole heart and soul
are yours. Be satisfied with that. Forget what has happened. You
shall never see my mother again. We will leave this place
to-morrow. We will go away in the yacht. Does it matter where we
live, so long as we live for each other? Forgive and forget! Oh,
Valeria, Valeria, forgive and forget!"

Unutterable misery was in his face; unutterable misery was in his
voice. Remember this. And remember that I loved him.

"It is easy to forgive," I said, sadly. "For your sake, Eustace,
I will try to forget."

I raised him gently as I spoke. He kissed my hands with the air
of a man who was too humble to venture on any more familiar
expression of his gratitude than that. The sense of embarrassment