"He--was dying before I reached him--that dreadful night.

He just--had strength left--to curse me! And I am cursed! I am cursed!" She flung out her arms wildly, clasping his feet.
He stooped lower over her.

"Hush--hush!" he said.
She did not seem to hear.

"I let you take me--I stained your honour--I wasn't a free woman.

I tried to think I was; but in my heart--I always knew--I always knew! I wouldn't have your love at first--because I knew.
And I came to you--that monsoon night--chiefly because--I wanted--when he came after me--as I knew he would come--to force him--to set me--free." Through bitter sobbing the confession came; in bitter sobbing it ended.
But still Merryon's hand was on her head, still his face was bent above her, grave and sad and pitiful, the face of a strong man enduring grief.
After a little, haltingly, she spoke again.