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Page 46
Trevlyn caught her arm fiercely.
"Madam, do you mean to say that this shameful story ever came to the ears
of Margie Harrison?"
"Yes, she knew it. I told it to her myself! Kill me, if you like," she
added, seeing his fearful face; "it will not be your first crime!"
He forced himself to be calm.
"When did you make this revelation to Margaret?"
"The night before she left New York--the night she was to have gone to
the opera with you. I deemed it my duty. I did not do it to separate you,
though I am willing to confess that I desired you to be separated. I knew
that Margaret would sooner die than marry you, if the knowledge of your
crime was possessed by her."
"And she--Margaret--believed me guilty?"
"Why should she not? Any jury of twelve impartial men would have
committed you on the evidence I could have brought. You were in love
with Miss Harrison. She was under a solemn obligation to marry Mr.
Linmere--yet she loved you. Nothing save his death could release her.
You were, then, at night in a lonely graveyard, where none of your kin
were slumbering. There, at that hour, the murder was done, and after its
commission, you stole forth silently, guiltily. By the side of the
murdered man, was found your glove, stained with his blood; and a little
way from his dead body, a handkerchief, bearing the single initial 'A.'
Whose name commences with that letter? Could anything be clearer or more
conclusive?"
"And you believe me guilty?"
"I do."
He took a step toward her. She never forgot the dreadful look upon his
face.
"I scorn to make any explanation. I might, perhaps, clear myself of this
foul accusation, but I will make no effort to do so. But not another day
will I live beneath the same roof with the woman who believed me guilty
of murder, and yet sunk herself so low as to become my wife!"
"As you please," she said, defiantly. "I should be quite as happy were it
so."
He bowed coldly, courteously--went out, and closed the door behind him.
The sound struck to the heart of his wife like a knell. She staggered
back, and fell upon a chair.
Had she been mad? She had wounded and angered him, beyond all hope of
pardon--him, whom in spite of everything, she held more precious than the
whole world! She had lost his respect--lost forever all chance of winning
his love. And she _had_ eagerly cherished the sweet hope that some time
he might forget the old dream, and turn to the new reality. But it was
past!
She went up to her chamber, and locking the door, threw herself, dressed
as she was, on the bed. How long must this continue? How long would he
remain away? His business would not, probably, keep him more than a few
days, and then, surely, he would return. And she would throw herself at
his feet, acknowledge her fault, and plead--yes, beg for his forgiveness.
Anything, only to have peace between them once more!
She could not write to him, for he had not left his address. The next
morning, she went down to the store, but they knew nothing of his
destination, or his probable time of absence. So all she could do was
to return home and wait.
A week passed--ten days--and still he did not return, and no tidings of
him had reached his agonized wife.
PART IV.
Louis Castrani received, one day, an urgent summons to Boston. It was the
very day following that on which he had been an unwilling listener to the
difficulty between Mr. and Mrs. Trevlyn. He knew from whom the summons
came. Once before he had been suddenly called in like manner.
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