He stopped abruptly, and there was a little silence. He had spoken without passion, simply in that weary monotone of those who have risen from great physical or mental suffering; and Nora’s heart ached with the knowledge that she alone had brought this ruin upon him. "You said, ’When I first heard of your marriage,’" she began at last. "When and how was that?" "From Frau von Arnim," he answered. "I thought you might still be with her at Karlsburg, and the place lay on my route. It was Frau von Arnim who told me." "Then—she knows everything?" He saw the alarm on her face. "As much as I know. Forgive me, Nora; it was inevitable—I could not believe what she told me. I am the more sorry because she is a hard, cold woman who will make trouble. That is another reason why I have come. I wanted to warn you." Nora made a quick gesture—half of dissent, half of doubt. "You misjudge her," she said. "She will forgive and understand, as you must. Oh, Robert, it makes me miserable to think I have caused you so much pain, but if I had to live my life again I could not have acted otherwise than I did!" Her voice had grown firmer, and as she spoke she turned from her position by the window and faced him with quiet confidence. "I acted for what I believed to be the best, Robert," she said. "It was perhaps wrong what I did, but I did not mean it to be—I meant to be just and honourable. But I was not strong enough. That was my one fault." Her clear, earnest tones brought back the light to the tired eyes that watched her. "I am glad," he said. "I am glad that you can explain. That is all I have come for, Nora—to hear from your own lips that you are not ashamed." "I am not ashamed," she answered steadily. And then, in a few quick sentences she told him everything that had led up to that final moment when Wolff had taken her in his arms and the whole world had been forgotten. As she spoke, the past revived before her own eyes, and she felt again a faint vibration of that happiness which had once seemed immortal, indestructible.