Had she refused to believe him, he knew not how he would have persisted in his villainy; for, even in concluding his story, it seemed to him that he must betray himself; so perfidious sounded to him the voice which he could hardly believe his own, and so slinking-knavish did he feel the posture of his body, the movements of his limbs.

The distress which should have smitten him to the heart restored his baser courage.

Again he spoke with the sad gravity of a sympathetic friend.
'Dearest lady, I cannot bid you be comforted, but I entreat you to pardon me, the hapless revealer of your misfortune.

Say only that you forgive me.' 'What is there to forgive ?' she answered, checking her all but silent sobs.

'You have told what it behoved you to tell.