He reconstructed every word he could remember of his and Sabine's conversation that afternoon.

He repictured her innocent baby face--and from there on to the night of the wedding.
He reviewed all his emotions in the chapel, and the strange exaltation which was upon him then--and the mad fire which awoke in his blood with his first kiss or of her fresh young lips when the vows were said.

Every minute incident was burned into his memory until the cutting of the cake--after that it seemed to be a chaos of wild passion, and moments of extraordinary bliss.

He suddenly could almost see her little head there unresisting on his breast, all tears and terror at last hushed to rest by his fond caresses--and then he started from his seat--the memory was too terribly sweet.
He had, of course, been the most frightful brute.

Nothing could alter or redeem that fact; but when sleep came to them at length he had believed that he had made her forgive him, and that he could teach her to love him and have no regrets.