Tristram's anger with her was just because he was an Englishman--very straight and simple--who could brook no deception! that is what she thought.
If she had not been so lately and so seriously ill--if all her fine faculties had been in their full vigor--perhaps some idea might have come to her; but her soul was so completely pure it did not naturally grasp such things, so even that is doubtful.
"Tristram--" she said, and there was the most piteous appeal in her tones, which almost brought the tears to his eyes.

"Please--I know you are angry with me for not telling you about Mirko and Mimo, but I had promised not to, and the poor, little one is dead.

I will tell you everything presently, if you wish, but don't ask me to now.

Oh! if you must go from me soon--you know best--I will not keep you, but--but please won't you take me with you to-day--back to Wrayth--just until I get quite well?
My uncle is away, and I am so lonely, and I have not any one else on earth." Her eyes had a pleading, frightened look, like a child's who is afraid to be left alone in the dark.
He could not resist her.

And, after all, her sin was of long ago--she could have done nothing since she had been his wife--why should she not come to Wrayth?
She could stay there if she wished, for a while after he had gone.