Her words had fallen like cold drops of lead into his heart. He
knew not to what she alluded, and imagined strange and horrible things.
"Helen," he said, at last, "your words have a dark meaning! your
language is strange for a wife, who has been so loved and trusted, to
use!"
"There is the sting, Walter. I have been loved and trusted without
deserving it; and what breaks down my proud nature most of all, is, to
think that Heaven, who knows all my guilt, still bears with me," she
said, while every feature worked with the agony this trial was causing
her.
"You will set me mad, woman! Let me hear what this guilt is, of which
you so often accuse yourself. By Heavens! all the wealth of India
shall never cloak dishonor! I will tear it away, and throw it--with
one who has dared to bring a stain on my name--off, as I would a soiled
garment. Do you understand me?" he said, in a fury.
Helen started up, the red blood rushing in crimson tides to her cheeks
and bosom, dyeing her arms down to the very tips of her fingers, at the
imputation. "It is not _that_, Walter, thank God!" she said, in a
firmer voice. "But there is no true repentance without restitution.
In a few moments you shall know _all_ my sin." She went into her
dressing-closet; when she came back, she held a small package in her
hand, which she laid on May's knee. "Take it, May--it is yours. I
stole it from the closet the night Uncle Stillinghast was dying, while
you slept.
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