The thought of that is to-day my only consolation."
They had reached her house by now. Don Rodrigo put forth his arm
to assist her to alight from her litter, and begged leave to
accompany her within. But she denied him.
"Not now--though I am grateful to you, Rodrigo. Soon, if you will
come and comfort me, you may. I will send you word when I am more
able to receive you--that is, if I am forgiven for . . ."
"Not another word," he begged her. "I honour you for what you
did. It is I who should sue to you for forgiveness."
"You are very noble and generous, Don Rodrigo. God keep you!" And
so she left him.
She had found him--had she but known it--a dejected, miserable
man in the act of reckoning up all that he had lost. In betraying
Susan he had acted upon an impulse that sprang partly from rage,
and partly from a sense of religious duty. In counting later the
cost to himself, he cursed the folly of his rage, and began to
wonder if such strict observance of religious duty was really
worth while to a man who had his way to make in the world. In
short, he was in the throes of reaction. But now, in her
unsuspicion, he found his hopes revive. She need never know.
The Holy Office preserved inviolate secrecy on the score of
deletions--since to do otherwise might be to discourage delators--
and there were no confrontations of accuser and accused, such as
took place in temporal courts.
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