"Married!" said St. Leon to himself, with a start, and a quick glance
at Beatrix. He bowed to her gracefully, then hurried to his wife's side.
"You are better, Beatrix?" he said, anxiously, and they all saw his
passionate heart looking out of the beautiful eyes he bent on her pale
and tear-stained face.
She clung to him in a sort of nervous terror and fear.
"Yes, I am better, thanks to the goodness of Clarice and her mistress,"
she faltered. "You must thank them for their kindness to me, St. Leon,
and take me away."
He obeyed her request in a few courteous words, bowed to the party,
and led his wife away, outwardly cool and collected, but on fire with
jealous pain.
"She loves him still! She fainted at the bare sight of him!" he
muttered to himself.
"My God! why did she marry me, then? Was it for wealth and position?"
The bitter doubt tore his heart like a knife. An unconscious coldness
grew up in his heart toward her.
He placed her silently in the carriage, and, springing in beside her,
gave himself up to bitter reflections.
The carriage whirled them away to their hotel, and as it rattled over
the streets Laurel watched her husband's cold, grave face with wonder.
"What is it, St. Leon?" she asked him, slipping her arm timidly in his.
"Why do you look so grave?"
"I am puzzled," he answered.
"Over what, St. Leon?" asked the beautiful girl.
"Over your fainting spell," he answered, moodily. "You told me you had
ceased to love Cyril Wentworth, but at the bare sight of him you fell
like one dead. What am I to think, Beatrix?"
It came over her like a flash, that he was jealous of Cyril
Wentworth--of Cyril Wentworth, whom she had never beheld until to-day.
How she longed for him to know the truth, to tell him that she had
never loved mortal man save him whom she called her husband! But it
was one of the pains and penalties of her position that she could not
confess to St. Leon. He must go on believing that her first pure love
had been lavished on another, must go on doubting her, for his looks
and words assured her that the first seeds of jealousy had been sown in
his heart.
Hot tears of pain and humiliation gathered in her eyes and splashed
heavily down her pale cheeks.
"Oh, St. Leon, you do not, you cannot, believe that I love him still?"
she sighed.
"Why, then, your agitation at that chance meeting?" he inquired.
"I was startled--only that," she answered. "It was like seeing a
ghost. And you must remember there was Clarice, too. I assure you I
was more startled at the sight of her than by Mr. Wentworth. It was a
nervousness, agitation, fright, what you will, St. Leon, but not love.
No, no, no, not love! I love you only, my husband. You are the life of
my life!"
She clasped her hands around his arm, and looked up to him with dark,
pathetic eyes.
"I am not perfect, St. Leon," she said, "and life is not all sunshine.
Some day the heavy, lowering clouds of fate will pour out their
blinding rain upon our heads. You may believe many hard things of me
then, St. Leon, but you may be sure of one thing always, dear. I love
you now and I shall love you forever, with the maddest, deepest passion
a woman's heart can cherish!"
He had never heard her speak with such passion before. Her love had
been like a timid bird brooding softly in her heart, too shy to soar
into the sunlight, but the words burst from her now eloquent with
her heart's emotion, and made sacred by the burning drops that fell
from her eyes. He could not but believe her. The jealous misery fled
from his heart as he clasped her in his arms and kissed the trembling
rosebud mouth.
"Forgive me, darling, for doubting you," he said, repentantly. "It
was because I love you so dearly, and I have always been so absurdly
jealous of Cyril Wentworth. I would give anything upon earth to be able
to say that you had never loved any one but me."
And she could not tell him that it was true. It was a part of her
punishment that this dark shadow--the thought that her first love had
been given another--should never be lifted from his life. She knew that
it was a pain to his jealous nature, but her lips were sealed. Some
day he would know the truth, she said to herself bitterly, but then it
would come too late for his happiness.