At these words the expression of Hulmar's face, as it was turned toward me, became stern,—very stern. But, not giving him time to speak, Reva went on hurriedly,—
"Do not blame him: it was wholly my fault; I—all but asked him."
"Reva," said her father, still very grave, yet apparently relieved, "what is this I hear? Explain."
"I can hardly explain how it happened. But a most foolish idea had taken possession of me. I thought Ismar did not love me as—as he once did when I was Edith. I could not bear the thought: I hardly knew what I was saying."
"Reva," said her father, but much less gravely than before, "you have, indeed, committed a grave fault, and one that would expose you to a severe rebuke from the council of matrons, should it come to their knowledge. They do not know the special reasons that greatly excuse what would otherwise be inexcusable. I do not greatly blame Ismar. How could he be expected to resist such a challenge? I, perhaps, am really more to blame than either of you. Yet, my dear children," he continued, "we must face this fact. You two can never again be trusted together as hitherto. You, Reva, have granted Ismar a privilege due only to a betrothed husband. Are you willing at once to accept him as such?"
Much as it had cost me, I had remained a silent auditor during this scene. For comparatively a stranger, as I was, to the pervading ideas and nicer shades of opinion of the period, what could I say that might not give. deep, though unintended, offence? On hearing this demand on the part of her father, Reva raised her eyes
