"And the other part;--who has forced that upon you? Who is your informant? If you mean to be generous, be generous altogether. Is it a man or a woman that has taken the trouble to rip up old sorrows that my name may be blackened? But what matters? There;--I was married to Captain Berdmore. I left him, and went away with my present husband. For three years I was a man's mistress, and not his wife. When that poor creature died we were married, and then came here. Now you know it all;--all;--all,--though doubtless your informant has made a better story of it. After that, perhaps, I have been very wicked to sully the air you breathe by my presence." "Why do you say that,--to me?" "But no;--you do not know it all. No one can ever know it all. No one can ever know how I suffered before I was driven to escape, or how good to me has been he who--who--who--" Then she turned her back upon Clara, and, walking off to the window, stood there, hiding the tears which clouded her eyes, and concealing the sobs which choked her utterance. For some moments,--for a space which seemed long to both of them,--Clara kept her seat in silence. She hardly dared to speak, and though she longed to show her sympathy, she knew not what to say. At last she too rose and followed the other to the window. She uttered no words, however, but gently putting her arm around Mrs. Askerton's waist, stood there close to her, looking out upon the cold wintry flower-beds,--not venturing to turn her eyes upon her companion. The motion of her arm was at first very gentle, but after a while she pressed it closer, and thus by degrees drew her friend to her with an eager, warm, and enduring pressure. Mrs. Askerton made some little effort towards repelling her, some faint motion of resistance; but as the embrace became warmer the poor woman yielded herself to it, and allowed her face to fall upon Clara's shoulder. So they stood, speaking no word, making no attempt to rid themselves of the tears which were blinding their eyes, but gazing out through the moisture on the bleak wintry scene before them. Clara's mind was the more active at the moment, for she was resolving that in this episode of her life she would accept no lesson whatever from Lady Aylmer's teaching;--no, nor any lesson whatever from the teaching of any Aylmer in existence. And as for the world's rules, she would fit herself to them as best she could; but no such fitting should drive her to the unwomanly cruelty of deserting this woman whom she had known and loved,--and whom she now loved with a fervour which she had never before felt towards her. "You have heard it all now," said Mrs. Askerton at last. "And is it not better so?" "Ah;--I do not know. How should I know?" "Do you not know?" And as she spoke Clara pressed her arm still closer. "Do you not know yet?" Then, turning herself half round, she clasped the other woman full in her arms, and kissed her forehead and her lips. "Do you not know yet?"