Then she hurriedly told him all; the whole story of his wife's dishonor, from her entrance into the sitting-room with Van Loo, her later appeal for concealment from her husband's unexpected presence, to the use she made of that concealment to fly with her lover. She spared no detail, and even repeated the insult Mrs. Barker had cast upon her with the triumphant reproach that her husband would not believe her. “Perhaps,” she added bitterly, “you may not believe me now. I could even stand that from you, George, if it could make you happier; but you would still have to believe it from others. The people at the Boomville Hotel saw them leave it together.” “I do believe you,” he said slowly, but with downcast eyes, “and if I did not love you before you told me this I could love you now for the part you have taken; but”--He stopped. “You love her still,” she burst out, “and I might have known it. Perhaps,” she went on distractedly, “you love her the more that you have lost her. It is the way of men--and women.” “If I had loved her truly,” said Barker, lifting his frank eyes to hers, “I could not have touched YOUR lips. I could not even have wished to--as I did three years ago--as I did last night. Then I feared it was my weakness, now I know it was my love. I have thought of it ever since, even while waiting my wife's return here, knowing that I did not and never could have loved her. But for that very reason I must try to save her for her own sake, if I cannot save her for mine; and if I fail, dearest, it shall not be said that we climbed to happiness over her back bent with the burden of her shame. If I loved you and told you so, thinking her still guiltless and innocent, how could I profit now by her fault?” Mrs. Horncastle saw too late her mistake. “Then you would take her back?” she said frenziedly. “To my home--which is hers--yes. To my heart--no. She never was there.” “And I,” said Mrs. Horncastle, with a quivering lip,--“where do I go when you have settled this? Back to my past again? Back to my husbandless, childless life?” She was turning away, but Barker caught her in his arms again. “No!” he said, his whole face suddenly radiating with hope and youthful enthusiasm. “No! Kitty will help us; we will tell her all. You do not know her, dearest, as I do--how good and kind she is, in spite of all. We will appeal to her; she will devise some means by which, without the scandal of a divorce, she and I may be separated. She will take dear little Sta with her--it is only right, poor girl; but she will let me come and see him. She will be a sister to us, dearest. Courage! All will come right yet. Trust to me.”