So I went away."
"You did not fail," said Ethne, quietly; "it was only I who failed."
She blamed herself most bitterly. She had set herself, as the one thing
worth doing, and incumbent on her to do, to guard this man from
knowledge which would set the crown on his calamities, and she had
failed. He had set himself to protect her from the comprehension that
she had failed, and he had succeeded. It was not any mere sense of
humiliation, due to the fact that the man whom she had thought to
hoodwink had hoodwinked her, which troubled her. But she felt that she
ought to have succeeded, since by failure she had robbed him of his last
chance of happiness. There lay the sting for her.
"But it was not your fault," he said. "Once or twice, as I said, you
were off your guard, but the convincing facts were not revealed to me in
that way. When you played the Musoline Overture before, on the night of
the day when Willoughby brought you such good news, I took to myself
that happiness of yours which inspired your playing. You must not blame
yourself. On the contrary, you should be glad that I have found out."
"Glad!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, for my sake, glad." And as she looked at him in wonderment he went
on: "Two lives should not be spoilt because of you.
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