"We are alone," she concluded, taking suggestion from this impression of solitude and abandonment; "alone in the world of our sins, if there is really such a thing as sin. Let us pity, each in our turn, and renew our existence. If we are at war, who will help us? Our relations, our friends, might die for us without their death bringing our suffering one moment of relief. I once read of a husband who wished to kill his wife. At the moment he tried to wound her she--bewildered--flung herself on his breast, instinctively seeking his protection against the murderer. How often have not I, in those days of doubt, while--to my shame--I was spying upon you, while I was wrestling with the idea of turning to strangers that I might know--_know_--how often have I not felt the impulse to come to you, to pray you to speak, to save, to protect me! See! Nature herself is indifferent to us at this moment, while, perhaps, our whole future is being decided. Every atom, every sparkle, every wave, runs to its own destiny without attending to us. We are alone; alone and lost. If we separate, where shall we go? and, moreover, if we did wrong, was it not precisely that we might not be separated?" "But," said Antonio, with one last attempt at defence, "you once wished----" And Regina felt a final touch of impatience. She was speaking as he ought to have spoken, and was he still resisting? What did he want? "There's no good in beginning all over again!" she cried. "This is enough. It seems to me that already I am reasoning too much for you to understand that between you and me there is no longer room for reproaches." "Yes, Regina," he sighed; "you reason too much, and that is what terrifies me!" His eyes sank. He looked at his hand, raised it, and let it fall heavily on Regina's, which he had retained all this while on his knee. "Why do I reason too much? Why are you terrified?" "Because if you really believed in my guilt you would not speak as you are speaking. You speak like this because you do not believe it--yet----" She felt her heart beat. He was right! But she summoned her forces and overcame herself. "Look at me!" she commanded. Antonio looked at her. His eyes were veiled in tears. * * * * * Then it was true. Regina had never seen her husband weep, nor had she ever imagined he could weep. At that moment, when everything darkened within her, not in swift passing eclipse, but in unending twilight, a confused recollection came to her of something far off--so far off that for years and years it had not returned to her mind. She saw again a man seated before a burning hearth. This man crouched, his elbows on his knees, his face on his hands, and he wept; while a woman bent over him, her hand laid on his bald head. The man was her father, the spendthrift; the woman her patient mother.