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Page 32
Nothing could have tempted Margie to have credited such a story of her
lover, had it not been for the overwhelming evidence of her own senses.
Ever since the night of Paul Linmere's assassination, she had at times
been tortured with agonizing doubts. From the first she had been morally
sure whose lips had touched her hand that night in the graveyard; she
knew that no other presence than that of Archer Trevlyn had the power to
influence her as she had been influenced. She knew that he had been
there, though she had not seen him; and for what purpose had he been
there? It was a question she had asked herself a thousand times!
There could be no doubt any longer. She was forced to that conclusion at
last; her heart sinking like lead in her bosom as she came to acknowledge
it. In a moment of terrible temptation, Arch Trevlyn had stained his
hands with blood! And for her sake!
There was a violent warfare in her heart. Her love for Archer Trevlyn had
not sprung up in a day; its growth had been slow, and it had taken deep
root. Oh, how hard it was to give up the blissful dream! She thought of
his early life--how it had been full of temptation--how his noble nature
had been warped and perverted by the evil influences that had surrounded
him, and for a while the temptation was strong upon her soul to forgive
him everything--to ignore all the past, and take him into her life as
though the fearful story she had just listened to had been untold. Marry
a murderer!
"Oh, God!" she cried in horror, as the whole extent of the truth burst
upon her: "Oh, my God, pity and aid me!"
She sank down on her knees, and though her lips uttered no sound, her
heart prayed as only hearts can pray when wrung with mortal suffering.
She saw her duty clearly. Archer Trevlyn must be given up; from that
there could be no appeal. Henceforth he must be to her as though he
had never been. She must put him entirely out of her life--out of her
thoughts--out of her sleeping and waking dreams.
But she could give him no explanation of her change of mind. She had
passed her word--nay, she had sworn never to reveal aught that Miss Lee
had told her, and a promise was binding. But he would not need any
explanation. His own guilty conscience would tell him why he was
renounced.
She took off the rose-colored dress in which she had arrayed herself to
meet him, and folded it away in a drawer of her wardrobe, together with
every other adornment she had worn that night. They would always be to
her painful reminders of that terrible season of anguish and despair.
When all were in, she shut them away from her sight, turned the key upon
them, and flung it far out of the window.
Then she opened her writing desk, and took out all the little notes he
had ever written to her, read them all over, and holding them one by one
to the blaze of the lamp, watched them with a sort of stony calmness
until they shrivelled and fell in ashes, black as her hopes, to the
floor. Then his gifts; a few simple things. These she did not look at;
she put them hastily into a box, sealed them up, and wrote his address
on the cover.
The last task was the hardest. She must write him a note, telling him
that all was over between them. The gray light of a clouded morning found
her making the effort. But for a long time her pen refused to move; her
hand seemed powerless. She felt weak and helpless as a very infant. But
it was done at last, and she read it over, wondering that she was alive
to read it:
"MR. ARCHER TREVLYN, SIR:--Yesterday afternoon, when I last saw you, I
did not think that before twenty-four hours had elapsed I should be under
the necessity of inditing to you this letter. Henceforth, you and I must
be as strangers. Not all the wealth and influence of the universe could
tempt me to become your wife, now that my eyes are opened. I renounce you
utterly and entirely, and no word or argument of yours can change me.
Therefore, do not attempt to see me, for with my own consent I will never
look upon your face again. I deem no explanation necessary; your own
conscience will tell you why I have been forced to make this decision.
I return to you with this note everything that can serve to remind me of
you, and ask you to do me the favor to burn all that you may have in your
possession which once was mine. Farewell, now and forever.
"MARGARET HARRISON."
There remained still something more to be done. Margie knew that Archer
Trevlyn would seek her out, and demand an explanation from her own lips,
and this must never be. She could not see him now; she was not certain
that she could ever see him again. She dared not risk the influence his
personal presence might have upon her. She must leave New York. But
where should she go? She had scarcely asked the question before thought
answered her.
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