I loved you so."
"But that--was--long ago."
"It was always."
"Hugh! I thought you must have learned to hate me."
"Hate you, because I couldn't make you care for me as--I hoped you
would, and because you cared for someone else? No, I--"
"But--I did care for you. It was for my father's sake that--that--ah, I
can't talk of it, Hugh. You know, we were so poor after father lost his
money, I tried with all my heart to forget, and to do my best for--my
husband. Perhaps it was my punishment that he--oh, Hugh, I was so
miserable. And then--then he went away. He was tired of me. He was on a
yacht, and there was a great storm. But you must have read in the
papers--"
"Never. I never knew till this day."
"It was more than three years ago."
Hugh was very pale. Three years ago--three long years in which he had
worked, and tried not to think of her! And if he had known--"You see,
I've had a queer life, knocking about in strange places," he said,
trying to speak calmly. "Often I didn't see any newspapers for weeks
together. I thought of you always as rich and happy, living in England,
the wife of Sir Edward Clifford--"
"Rich and happy," she repeated, bitterly.
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