As they descended the stairs, Rebecca determined that she would have the first word in what might now be said between them. She had suggested that this marriage with the Christian girl might be abandoned without the disgrace upon Anton of having broken his troth, and she had thereby laid herself open to a suspicion of having worked for her own ends--of having done so with unmaidenly eagerness to gratify her own love. Something on the subject must be said--would be said by him if not by her--and therefore she would explain herself at once. She spoke as soon as she found herself by his side in the street. "I regretted what I said up-stairs, Anton, as soon as the words were out of my mouth." "I do not know that you said anything to regret." "I told you that if in truth you thought this marriage to be wrong--" "Which I do not." "Pardon me, my friend, for a moment. If you had so thought, I said that there was a mode of escape without falsehood or disgrace. In saying so I must have seemed to urge you to break away from Nina Balatka." "You are all urging me to do that." "Coming from the others, such advice cannot even seem to have an improper motive." Here she paused, feeling the difficulty of her task-- aware that she could not conclude it without an admission which no woman willingly makes. But she shook away the impediment, bracing herself to the work, and went on steadily with her speech. "Coming from me, such motive may be imputed--nay, it must be imputed." "No motive is imputed that is not believed by me to be good and healthy and friendly." "Our friends," continued Rebecca, "have wished that you and I should be husband and wife. That is now impossible." "It is impossible--because Nina will be my wife." "It is impossible, whether Nina should become your wife or should not become your wife. I do not say this from any girlish pride. Before I knew that you loved a Christian woman, I would willingly have been--as our friends wished. You see I can trust you enough for candour. When I was young they told me to love you, and I obeyed them. They told me that I was to be your wife, and I taught myself to be happy in believing them. I now know that they were wrong, and I will endeavour to teach myself another happiness." "Rebecca, if I have been in fault--" "You have never been in fault. You are by nature too stern to fall into such faults. It has been my misfortune--perhaps rather I should say my difficulty--that till of late you have given me no sign by which I could foresee my lot. I was still young, and I still believed what they told me, even though you did not come to me as lovers come. Now I know it all; and as any such thoughts--or wishes, if you will--as those I used to have can never return to me, I may perhaps be felt by you to be free to use what liberty of counsel old friendship may give me. I know you will not misunderstand me--and that is all. Do not come further with me."