and, through all, the blue stars in her ears had kept their place: as she started impulsively to her full height, sheathed in her white shawl, her face and neck not less white, except for a purple line under her eyes, her lips a little apart with the peculiar expression of one accused and helpless, she looked like the unhappy ghost of that Gwendolen Harleth whom Deronda had seen turning with firm lips and proud self-possession from her losses at the gaming-table. The sight pierced him with pity, and the effects of all their past relation began to revive within him.
"I beseech you to rest—not to stand," said Deronda, as he approached her; and she obeyed, falling back into her chair again.
"Will you sit down near me?" she said. "I want to speak very low."
She was in a large arm-chair, and he drew a small one near to her side. The action seemed to touch her peculiarly: turning her pale face full upon his, which was very near, she said, in the lowest audible tone, "You know I am a guilty woman?"
Deronda himself turned paler as he said, "I know nothing." He did not dare to say more.
"He is dead." She uttered this with the same undertoned decision.
