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Page 30
Her cheeks grew brilliant as red roses, her eyes sparkled like stars.
Margie looked into the bewilderingly beautiful face with suspended
breath. The woman's passionate presence scorched her; she could not
be herself, with those eyes of fire blazing down into hers.
Alexandrine resumed, "I am wasting time. Let me hurry on to the end, or
your lover will be here before I finish."
"My lover!" cried Margie, in a dazed sort of way, "_my lover_? O yes I
remember, Archer Trevlyn was coming. Is it nearly time for him?"
Alexandrine took the shrinking, cowering girl by the shoulders, and
lifted her into a seat.
"Rouse yourself, Margie. I have not done. I want you to hear it all."
"Yes, I am hearing."
It was pitiful to see how helpless and weak the poor child had become.
All sense of joy and sorrow seemed to have died out of her.
"I feared so much that when the body of the murdered man should be
discovered, there would be some clue which would point to the guilty
party! Such a night as I passed, while they searched for the body! I
thought I should go mad!" She hid her face in her hands, and her figure
shook like a leaf in the autumn wind.
"When the dog took us to the graveyard, I thought I would be the first
inside--I would see if there was anything left on the ground to point to
the real murderer. You remember that I picked up something, do you not?"
"I do. Your glove, was it not?"
"Yes. It was my glove! I defy the whole world to take it from me! I would
die before such a proof should be brought against the man I love!" she
cried wildly. "See here!"
She drew from her bosom a kid glove, stained and stiff with blood.
"Margie, have you ever seen it before? Look here. It has been mended;
sewed with blue silk! Do you remember anything about it?"
"Yes; I saw you mend it at Cape May," she answered, the words forced from
her, apparently, without her volition.
"You are right. He had torn it while rowing me out, one morning. I saw
the rent and offered to repair it. He makes his gloves wear well, doesn't
he?"
"O don't! don't! how can you! Alexandrine, wake me, for mercy's sake!
This is some horrible dream."
"I would to heaven it were! It would be happier for us all. But if you
feel any doubt about the identity of the glove, look here." She turned
back the wrist, and there on the inside, written in the bold characters
which were a peculiarity of Arch Trevlyn's handwriting, was the name
in full--_Archer Trevlyn_.
Margie shrank back and covered her eyes, as if to shut out the terrible
proof. Alexandrine returned the glove to her bosom, and then continued:
"The handkerchief found near Mr. Linmere was marked with the single
letter A. Whose name begins with that letter?"
"Stop, I implore you! I shall lose my reason! I am blinded--I cannot see!
O, if I could only die and leave it all!"
"You will not die. I bore it, and still live; and it is so much harder
for me, because I have to bear it all alone. You have your religion to
help you, Margie. Surely that will bear you up! I have heard all you
pious people prate enough of its service in time of trouble to remember
that consolation."
"Don't, Alexandria! It is sinful to scorn God's holy religion. Yes, you
are right; it will help me. God himself will help me, if I ask him. He
knows how much I stand in need of it."
"I am glad you are so likely to be supported," returned the girl,
half-earnestly, half-contemptuously. "Are you satisfied in regard to
Mr. Archer Trevlyn?"
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