Juliette Ives was walking along the mountain road just a few rods from
the cottage, kicking up the dead leaves from the ground at every step,
and frowning discontentedly.
“It is almost two months since I came to this place, and it is as
dreary as a prison. I hope we shall certainly get away this week, or
I shall die of ennui,” she was muttering angrily to herself, when
suddenly she came face to face with a man who was hurrying in the
direction of the cottage--Norman Wylde.
It was the first time he had seen Juliette since Finley’s sullen
confession had convicted her of such a treacherous deed, and Norman’s
brow grew dark at sight of the fair blond face, with its light-blue
eyes, and pale golden tresses flying loosely in the wind under a
picturesque little scarlet cap, for Juliette was always vain and
coquettish, and even here in this secluded retreat, where she expected
to see no one, paid particular attention to her personal appearance.
But her charms were all unheeded by Norman Wylde, who lifted his hat
with grave courtesy, and was about to pass by when she arrested him
with a pleading cry:
“Norman--Mr. Wylde!”
He paused, but with an impatient gesture, and, coming close up to him,
she said eagerly:
“I cannot let pass this opportunity of clearing myself from the foul
imputation cast upon me by that wicked wretch, Finley. Oh, Norman, I
swear to you that I had nothing to do with his sin! I did not even know
the man.”
She never forgot how handsome and how scornful her lost lover looked as
he fixed his splendid, piercing black eyes on her false face. Regarding
her with supreme contempt, he answered:
“Unfortunately for your denial, Miss Ives, Finley had written proofs in
his possession that proved your guilt clearly.”
“I deny it in spite of all his proofs,” she cried desperately, but,
smiling scornfully still, he answered:
“As you please, Miss Ives; but permit me to pass. I am anxious to meet
my wife!”
“You have no wife!” she exclaimed, with such spiteful yet earnest
emphasis that he paused again, and said:
“Deny it as you will; but I have proved to the world’s satisfaction
that Pansy Laurens is my wife, and a week ago, when Mr. Finley
recovered from the long stupor and loss of memory that followed upon
his fall, he told me my wife still lived, in the person of Mrs.
Falconer. I wondered why she had not come at once to me on learning
that she was truly my wife. But, guessing that it was owing to
her sensitive, retiring nature, I set myself to work to learn her
whereabouts. I learned that she had separated from Colonel Falconer,
and was living here in strict retirement. I hurried here at once.”
“In spite of all that, I repeat my assertion: You have no wife!”
answered Juliette, with savage emphasis and barbarous delight in the
torture she was inflicting on his heart.
“My Heaven!” he cried, shuddering. “You do not mean to tell me that
Pansy is dead!”
“No; it is worse than that.” She paused a moment, watching him keenly,
the better to enjoy her triumph, then added: “She has procured a
divorce from you.”
Then she shrank in spite of herself, for the rage and despair on that
darkly handsome face frightened her, defiant as she was, and his voice
seemed to breathe menace as he shouted hoarsely:
“It is false! False as your treacherous heart, Juliette Ives!” And,
with the words, he rushed madly from her toward the cottage, wild to
know the truth from Pansy’s own beautiful lips.
Juliette followed slowly after, with a white face of wrath and envy,
for she well knew that, though Pansy was lost to Norman forever, he
would never love another.
Phebe went up to her mistress with a message from Mr. Wylde, and, after
a long interval, returned with a brief, ambiguous note:
I refuse to see you. I received my decree of divorce this morning,
and to-morrow I shall be married to Colonel Falconer. Forgive me,
Norman, for I have acted for the best as far as I could see my duty.
Let our child comfort you. Love him, and make up to him for his
mother’s loss. I go abroad in a few days, never to return. Forget me
if you can, and if not, remember me with pity. Farewell forever, and
may Heaven bless you!
PANSY.
Crushing the perfumed sheet in his hand, he staggered across the
doorway with a face like a corpse. A white hand fluttered down on his
coat sleeve, and tender blue eyes gazed into his agonized face.
“You see now!” said Juliette triumphantly. “She was like the majority
of women. She cared more for Colonel Falconer’s money than for her
husband’s love! Oh, Norman,” her voice sank into a low, pleading
cadence, “will you not forget her now and make up our wretched quarrel?
Remember, we loved each other before you ever saw her face!”
“I never loved you--never! And for the misery your sin has brought me
I curse you!” he answered. “I have lost her, but it was through your
treachery at the beginning that she was forced into a position where
her noble nature made her sacrifice herself and me to a mistaken sense
of duty. Ah, I understand her generous soul! Do not prate to me of
gold. She cared nothing for that, but, in her pity for him, she has
broken both her heart and mine.” And, throwing off her touch as though
it were a serpent’s coil, he rushed away.