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Page 51
She dropped her head upon her hands, and burst into tears--the first she
had shed since that terrible night when that blasted revelation had, as
she thought, sealed up the fountain of tears forever. Castrani did not
seek to sooth her; he judged rightly that she would be better for this
abandonment to a woman's legitimate source of relief. She lifted her wet
face at last--but what a change was there! The transparent paleness had
given place to the sweet wild rose color which had once made Margie so
very lovely, and the sad eyes were brilliant as stars, through the mist
of tears.
"I believe it--yes, I believe it?" she said, softly,--reverently. "I
thank God for giving me the assurance. You tell me so. You would not,
unless it were true!"
"No, Margaret; I would not," replied Castrani, strongly affected. "Heaven
forbid that I should raise hopes which I cannot verify. When you are calm
enough to understand, I will explain it fully."
"I am calm now. Go on."
"I must trouble you with a little, only a little, of my own private
history, in order that you may understand what follows. I am, as you
know, a Cuban by birth, but my father, only, was Spanish. My mother was
a native of Boston, who married my father for love, and went with him to
his Southern home. I was an only child, and when I was about twelve years
of age, my parents adopted a girl, some four years my junior. She was the
orphan child of poor parents, and was possessed of wonderful beauty and
intelligence. Together we grew up and no brother and sister loved each
other more fully than we. It was only a brotherly and sisterly love--for
I was engaged, at sixteen, to Inez de Nuncio, a lovely young Spanish
girl, who was cruelly taken away from me by the hand of violence, as you
know. Arabel grew to girlhood, lovely as a houri. Lovely, however, is not
the right word; she was royally magnificent. I have seen many elegant
women, but never one who for stately grace and beauty would compare with
her. She had many suitors, but she favored none, until he came--Paul
Linmere, the fiend and destroyer! Ill health had driven him to Cuba, to
try the effect of our southern air, and soon after his arrival, he became
acquainted with Arabel. He was very handsome and fascinating, and much
sought after by the fair ladies of my native town. Arabel was vain, and
his devoted attentions flattered her, while his handsome face and
fascinating address won her love. She was a passionate child of the
South, uncalculating as a babe where her affections were concerned; and
before my parents had begun to ascertain any danger from Linmere's
society, she had left everything, and fled with him.
"My mother was plunged in grief, for she had loved Arabel like an own
child; and the uncertainty of her fate, I think, hastened my mother's
death. My father left no means untried to discover the whereabouts of the
erring girl--but in vain. For years her fate was shrouded in mystery.
My parents died. Inez was taken from me, and weary and heartsick, I came
to New York, hoping to find some distraction in new scenes, and among a
new people.
"The day before you left New York, I received a message from Arabel Vere.
She was in Boston ill unto death. She wanted to see me once more; and she
had a sin upon her conscience, which she must confess before she died;
and she must confess it to no person but myself. In obedience to this
summons, I hurried to Boston, and the same train that carried me, carried
you, also.
"I found Arabel but a mere wreck of her former self. Her countenance told
me how fearfully she had suffered. She was very ill, in a wretched room,
with no attendants or medical aid. I had her immediately removed to
lodgings suitable for her, and provided a nurse and a physician. From
that time she began to mend, and in a couple of days the physician
pronounced her out of immediate danger. When she knew her life was to be
prolonged, she refused to make the confession she had summoned me to
hear. So long as there was any prospect of her recovery, she said, she
must keep the matter a secret. But she could not die and leave it untold.
Therefore she promised that whenever she should feel death approaching
she should send again for me, and relieve her soul by the confession of
her sin. A few days ago came her second summons.
"Previous to this only a little while, I had been inadvertently a
listener to an altercation between Archer Trevlyn and his wife, during
which Mrs. Trevlyn, in a fit of rage, denounced her husband as the
murderer of Paul Linmere. She produced proofs, which I confess struck me
as strangely, satisfactory, and affirmed her belief in his guilt. She
also told him that because the knowledge of his crime had come to you,
you had discarded him, and left New York, to be rid of him forever!
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