She says that something has happened which makes it impossible for her ever to fulfil her promise, something which must always remain her secret, which I may not hope to understand.
And with such dreadful appearance of sincerity--such a face of awful suffering--' His voice failed.

The grave concern on Mrs.Baxendale's visage was not encouraging.
'Something happened ?' the latter repeated, in low-toned astonishment.
'Does she offer no kind of explanation ?' 'None--none,' he added, 'that I can bring myself to believe.' Mrs.Baxendale could only look at him questioningly.
'She said,' Wilfrid continued, pale with the effort it cost him to speak, 'that she has no longer any affection for me.' There was another silence, of longer endurance than the last.

Wilfrid was the first to break it.
'My reason for refusing to believe it is, that she said it when she had done her utmost to convince me of her earnestness in other ways, and said it in a way--How is it possible for me to believe it?
It is only two months since I saw her on the Castle Hill.' 'I thought you had never been here before ?' 'I have never spoken to you of that.

I came and left on the same day, It was to see her before I went to Switzerland.' 'I am at a loss,' said Mrs.Baxendale.

'I can only suggest that she has had a terrible shock, and that her recovery, or seeming recovery, has been too rapid.