I spoke, and did not answer, but, stung by the recollections my words awakened, stamped his foot upon the floor, ground his teeth, and corrugated his brow, like one under the influence of acute physical pain.
"It was wrong—it was wrong!" he muttered, at length. "Nothing can excuse it—nothing can atone for it,—for nothing can recall those years of cursed credulity—nothing obliterate them!—nothing, nothing!" he repeated in a whisper whose despairing bitterness precluded all resentment.
"When I put the case to myself, I own it was wrong," I answered; "but I can only now regret that I did not see it in this light before, and that, as you say, nothing can recall the past."
Something in my voice or in the spirit of this answer seemed to alter his mood. Turning towards me and attentively surveying my face by the dim light, he said in a milder tone than he had yet employed,—
