"I loved him, Mrs. Wentworth. That is all my defense. Call me weak,
cowardly, wicked, if you will; but I could not put the temptation from
me. Think what all my life had been--how dull, how sad, how lonely! Was
it easy to put away happiness when it came to me in so fair a guise?"
The white hands were clasped imploringly, the dark eyes were lifted
pleadingly as the sad words fell from Laurel's lips. Beatrix Wentworth
and Clarice Wells, her judges and accusers, looked gravely upon the
tortured face of the culprit--the fairest culprit that was ever
arraigned for her sin.
"Do you call it happiness?" said Beatrix Wentworth. "I should not think
you would know one happy hour, living on the verge of a volcano that
may destroy you at any moment. I should think that your sorrow and
repentance would almost kill you."
"But I do not repent!" cried Laurel desperately. "I shall never repent
while I remain with St. Leon. I am too happy, in spite of my fears, for
sorrow or repentance. When I am torn away from him, when I have lost
his love, then I shall repent, then I shall understand the depths of my
dreadful sin; but never before!"
They looked at her in wonder. They could not understand her. Surely she
was mad--the glamour of passion had obscured her reason!
"And when the end comes--when he has put you from him--what will you do
then, poor child!" asked Beatrix, slowly.
"Then I shall die," the beautiful girl answered, despairingly.
And again they did not know what to say to her. She had no thoughts
outside of this love that she held by so slight a thread. She could see
nothing beyond it but death. Beatrix could not help feeling vexed with
her. She loved her own young husband with a fond, romantic love, but
she could not comprehend the madness of Laurel's devotion.
"It is not so easy to die, Laurel," she said, impatiently. "You are a
woman now, and you must not answer me like a child. Your sin will find
you out some day, and you will perhaps be cast adrift on the world. You
should have some plans formed for that time."
There was a moment's silence; then Laurel murmured, tremblingly:
"St. Leon loves me--perhaps he will forgive me."
Clarice Wells gave an audible sigh from her corner. Beatrix murmured,
"Poor child!"
And the mistress and maid looked at each other in silence a moment.
They did not know how to deal with this nature. Both wondered in
themselves if St. Leon Le Roy would indeed forgive her falsehood. They
did not think so.
Beatrix toyed nervously with the tassels of her pale-blue morning dress.
"Laurel," she said, after a moment. "Clarice and I have formed a plan
for you. We do not want to betray you to your husband. We think it
would be better it you confessed the truth to him yourself."
They never forgot how deathly white she grew, nor how wild and
frightened the dark eyes looked. She threw out her hands as if to ward
off a blow.
"Confess to St. Leon? Why, I would sooner die!" she gasped.
"But, my dear child," remonstrated Beatrix, "he would be far more
likely to forgive you if you confessed to him yourself than if I
betrayed you."
"You will not do that, oh, you will not do that! You could not be so
cruel!" gasped Laurel, throwing herself impulsively at Beatrix's feet.
"Oh, Mrs. Wentworth, I helped _you_ to happiness! Do not rob me of
mine!"
Clarice raised her gently and replaced her in her seat.
"You have not heard all my plan out, Laurel," said Beatrix. "I do
not forget my debt to you. I would sooner help you than betray you.
I was going on to say that if you would be brave enough to confess
to St. Leon how you have wronged him, I too would confess to him. I
would tell him how much I was to blame. I would beg him to forgive you
because you were so innocent and ignorant, and because you loved him
so. Then--if it came to the worst--if in his pride and his wrath he
should put you away from him--you might come to us--to Cyril and me."
The hapless young creature did not answer a word. She stared at Beatrix
mutely with wide, wild eyes like a hunted fawn's.
"Well, what do you say, Laurel?" inquired Beatrix. "Will you do as I
wish you?"
"It is too terrible a risk. I do not dare," moaned Laurel, hiding her
face in her hands.
Then for a time there was silence. Beatrix was hurt and chagrined that
her plan had been discarded. She thought Laurel was a headstrong,
willful child, rushing blindly upon her own destruction.
But she could not help pitying the girl, her fear and misery were
so great. She desisted from advising her. It seemed too much like
torturing some lovely, helpless creature. The hunted look in the dark
eyes pained her.
"After all, is she any worse than I am?" said Beatrix to herself. "I
deceived my parents. I risked everything for love's sake, and this poor
child has done no more than that. I must not be angry with her. I must
remember always that it was I who led her into temptation."
She went to her gently, she took the white hands from the pale,
tear-stained face, and held them kindly in both of hers.
"Laurel, do not look so miserable and heart-broken," she said, gently.
"You need not be afraid of me."
Laurel looked at her with a flash of hope in her humid eyes.
"Do you mean that you will not betray me?" she panted.
"I will not betray you," Beatrix answered. "I pity you too much, my
poor child, and I know that the end will come soon enough. Far be it
from me to hasten the evil hour."
She was glad she had spoken so kindly when she saw the lovely flush of
joy that came into the sensitive face. Laurel thanked and blessed her
passionately, then the dark eyes turned to Clarice.
"And will you have mercy on me, too?" she said. "I have always been
afraid of you, Clarice. I have always remembered what you said. The
words have haunted me."
"I meant what I said," replied the maid. "If I had seen you going to
the altar with him, I should have betrayed you, and saved him. It would
have been my duty."
"And now?" Laurel questioned faintly.
"It has gone too far," answered Clarice. "You are Mr. Le Roy's wedded
wife. What God hath joined together, no man must put asunder."
She thanked them with such trembling passion and joy that they could
have wept.
"I do not know whether I am doing right," said Beatrix. "But I am very
happy, and I remember always that you helped me to my happiness, and
that I thoughtlessly led you into temptation. I will keep your secret,
Laurel, and may God help you when your hour of reckoning comes, as it
too surely will, my poor child, sooner or later."