At Mrs. Desmond's kindly-spoken words, Celine heaved a deep sigh and
remained silent. The lady glanced up at her in some surprise.
"What is the matter, Celine?" she inquired. "Do you not think I am
right to acknowledge my appreciation of her valuable services?"
The maid only sighed more deeply, casting down her eyes as if in great
distress.
"I hope you are not jealous, Celine," continued her mistress. "You know
I have given you many such testimonials of my favor."
"Yes, that you have, and I'm not jealous--not a bit, dear mistress,"
cried Celine; "but, oh, dear, oh, dear! that you should have been so
cruelly deceived and betrayed."
"Celine, what do you mean?" asked the lady, disturbed.
"Oh, my dear lady, I hate to grieve you, but I can't bear to see you
imposed upon any longer by that shameless girl! Oh, my dear mistress,
where are your eyes that you can't see her disgrace? Oh, how I wish I
had told all I knew at first!" cried Celine, wringing her hands, while
tears fell from her eyes.
Mrs. Desmond sprang up and caught her by the arm excitedly.
"Speak! What is it that you know?" she cried, passionately. "Have I
been deceived in Mary Smith?"
"Yes, my dear lady--most cruelly deceived!" exclaimed Celine.
"But she has certainly been kind to the child. Else Ruby would have
complained," said Mrs. Desmond in perplexity.
"Oh, yes, she was kind to the child, I admit, but it was all for a
blind. And all the--all the while--oh, Mrs. Desmond, if you could only
understand without my telling it," cried Celine, breaking off abruptly,
with an appearance of grief and reluctance.
The passionate, jealous heart of the listener caught the artful bait
instantly.
She gasped for breath, her brilliant face whitened to a marble pallor,
and she caught at the back of a chair to steady herself.
If Celine had not been utterly selfish and pitiless she must have
retracted her cruel lie in the face of that utter despair on the
beautiful face of her mistress. But the greed of gold overpowered every
other consideration in her base mind.
"Celine," the startled woman broke out, "do you mean to say that--my
husband----" she paused, and her blazing eyes searched the woman's face.
"Your husband loves her--alas, yes, my poor, deceived mistress," cried
the maid. "The deceitful creature has won his heart from you."
There was a moment's silence while Mrs. Desmond groped blindly in her
mind for some tangible proof on which to pin her faith in her beloved
husband.
"Celine, you must be mistaken," she exclaimed. "You know we have been
away from home almost the whole time since the girl came to us. She has
had no chance with my husband."
"Alas, Mrs. Desmond, you force me to tell you," sighed Celine. "Know,
then, that it all began before you went south to Mr. Chesleigh. The
very day after she came I caught Mr. Desmond kissing Mary Smith, with
his arms around her waist."
"Celine, will you swear to this?" gasped the unhappy wife.
"I will take my Bible oath to its truth," was the emphatic reply.
"Then God help me," moaned the stricken woman. "Celine, why did you not
tell me all this before?"
"I was afraid of master's anger," she replied. "He threatened me and I
promised not to tell. Oh, my dear lady, will you promise to shield me
from his wrath? I could not see you so imposed on any longer."
"So the affair has been going on from bad to worse, Celine?" inquired
her mistress, faintly.
"Yes, my dear mistress. You remember how anxious he was to return
to New York and take little Miss Ruby to the seashore. It was
all an excuse to get back to the nurse. And since we came back
yesterday--well, I've told enough already. Are you angry with me, my
dear, injured lady?" inquired Celine breaking off, artfully, just
where she really had nothing more to tell, unless she had fabricated a
wholesale lie.
Mrs. Desmond shook her head and remained silent. The maid was
disappointed. She had expected a wild outpouring of anger from the
jealous wife, but instead she preserved an ominous quiet.
Her head drooped on her bosom, her face was colorless as death, her
wild, burning, dark eyes were the only signs of life in her.
Celine was a little startled at the effect of her wickedness. She
brought some _eau de cologne_, and tried to bathe the face of her
mistress but was quickly motioned away.
"Go, Celine, send that girl here to me," she said, speaking in a dry,
hard, unnatural voice.
The maid went out, and Mrs. Desmond waited but a moment before the door
unclasped and little Golden entered. She paused in the middle of the
room, and said in her gentle voice:
"You sent for me, Mrs. Desmond?"
Mrs. Desmond lifted her eyes and looked at the beautiful girl whom she
believed to be the wicked destroyer of her happiness. Golden shrank
before the withering scorn of that look.
"Oh, madam, is anything the matter?" she faltered.
Mrs. Desmond rose and towered above her in all the dignity of her
insulted wifehood.
"Oh, no," she said, in a low, deep voice of concentrated passion,
"there is very little the matter--only this trifle. You have
shamelessly robbed me of my husband."
"Madam!" cried Golden, in alarm and consternation.
"You need not pretend innocence--you cannot deceive me," cried the
outraged wife. "You have won his heart, you have stolen him from me,
and you have forever ruined my life."
"Oh, madam, who has told you this dreadful tale? It is not true.
I would sooner die than wrong you," cried Golden, with pitiful
earnestness.
"Hush, do not lie to me," exclaimed Mrs. Desmond, lifting and pointing
a scornful finger at the shrinking form. "Your looks declare your
shame. Go, leave the house this moment wretched creature, before in my
madness I lay violent hands on you!"
But Golden did not go. She knelt down before her angry accuser, and
looked up at her pleadingly.
"Oh, Mrs. Desmond, you are mistaken! You wrong me bitterly by such a
suspicion!" she cried, with the tears streaming down her fair cheeks.
"Wrong you!" Mrs. Desmond cried, "are you not then----" she bent and
fairly hissed the remaining words into the girl's ear. Golden threw up
her hands with a cry of dismay.
"Oh, my God, this is too horrible!" she wailed, "how can I bear it?"
"Did I not speak the truth?" Mrs. Desmond demanded.
"It is true, madam, I cannot deny it," replied the girl, crimson with
burning blushes, "but I--oh, I call Heaven to witness my truth, Mrs.
Desmond, I am nothing to your husband, I was--was--married before I
came to you."
"Then where is your husband?"
"I cannot tell," faltered the white lips.
"That is strange," said Mrs. Desmond, scornfully. "Has he left you?"
"Yes, madam," with a pitiful droop of the fair head.
"Why did he do so?" inquired the lady
"I cannot tell you," Golden murmured, sorrowfully.
Ah, if Mrs. Desmond had only known the truth, that it was her brother's
wife kneeling there ashamed and dejected before her. But she did not
dream it, and her anger rose at the girl's unsatisfactory replies to
her questions.
"I will not ask you any more questions," she said, "I do not wish to
hear more of your weak falsehoods. Get up from there, and go. Leave the
house now and at once, before I publish your conduct to everyone. You
need not go to Mrs. Markham for sympathy. I shall go to her at once and
tell her what you are."
Golden stood still, staring at her blankly a moment. She was dazed and
frightened at the shameful suspicion that had fallen upon her, and she
did not know how to convince Mrs. Desmond of her innocence.
"Oh, madam, if I could only induce you to believe that I am not the
vile creature you think me," she cried in anguish.
"Hush; leave the room!" Mrs. Desmond answered stormily. "Go, and take
with you the bitterest curse of an injured woman. May the good God
speedily avenge my cruel wrongs!"
She crossed to the door, threw it open, and pointed silently to it.
Golden obeyed the mute sentence of her lifted finger and glided out,
a forlorn, little figure, feeling almost annihilated by the vivid
lightning of Mrs. Desmond's angry eyes.
The door slammed heavily behind her, and she walked along through the
brightly lighted hotel corridor, for the twilight had fallen long ago.
The rain was falling heavily, and Golden shrank and trembled at the
thought of encountering the black, inclement night. The thought came to
her--why should she go?
She was ill, friendless, almost penniless. It was her husband's right
to protect her.
And here she was passing his very door. Should she not appeal to him
for comfort in this terrible hour?
Her trembling limbs refused to carry her past his door. She turned the
handle with a weak and trembling hand and stepped over the threshold.