Then, "I know what you are going to say," he said.

She shook her head. "Oh, no, you don't, darling. It's something that'll
make you frightfully angry."

The faintest gleam of a smile crossed Merryon's face. "With you?" he
said.

She nodded, and suddenly her eyes were brimming with tears. "Yes, with
me."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "I tell you, I know what it is," he
said, with a certain stubbornness.

She turned her cheek for a moment to caress the hand; then suddenly all
her strength went from her. She sank down on the floor at his feet,
huddled together in a woeful heap, just as she had been on that first
night when the safety-curtain had dropped behind her.

"You'll never forgive me!" she sobbed. "But I knew--I knew--I always
knew!"

"Knew what, child?" He was stooping over her. His hand, trembling still
with weakness, was on her head. "But, no, don't tell me!" he said, and
his voice was deeply tender. "The fellow is dead, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes, he's dead." Quiveringly, between piteous sobs, she answered
him. "He--was dying before I reached him--that dreadful night. He
just--had strength left--to curse me! And I am cursed! I am cursed!"