“LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION!”
No wonder he thought she was losing her senses--the appeal was so
strange, so sudden, so unexpected!
“Maisie, are you mad?” he asked her again, in consternation, and she
answered most bitterly:
“Yes, maddened by wrong and injustice, and driven to bay! Do not
pretend to be surprised, Byrd, for you see I understood what Josephine
said--and, I may as well confess it, I was hidden in this room and
heard all that you and Del said to each other. Was that not enough to
drive me mad?”
He faltered, reproachfully:
“You were hidden here? You listened. Was that right, Maisie?”
“Was it wrong when it concerned me so nearly? But I am not in a mood
for discussing an ethical question now. I repeat I was hiding in the
alcove there, crushed with the humiliation of Josephine’s words. You
came in together, and I learned all--that Del had married me for spite,
with his heart full of another--vilely deceived me! Was it not enough
to turn love to hate?”
“It was cruel, poor child, I do not deny it, but it cannot be helped
now! Try to be brave, believing that all will soon come right. Delmar’s
heart in its rebound will surely turn to his beautiful, charming bride!”
“I do not wish it so! I hate him now for his treachery! I must, I will
be free of the tie that binds me to Delmar Barrington!” she raved,
with blazing eyes, her white hands beating the air with anguish, and
struggling to get free as Byrd caught them tightly in both his own,
dragging her up forcibly to a seat.
“Sit down there, Maisie. You must not kneel to any but your God! Calm
yourself, poor girl, you are unduly excited now, and may by and by
repent your present haste.”
“Never! Never! Oh, Byrd, will you get me that divorce; will you--will
you--will you? I cannot bear my life unless I get free! Oh, think of
the horrible humiliation! Married without love, to spite his brother,
who loved me; to pique a girl who was false! Not a scruple for my fond
heart broken, my young life wrecked, as cruelly as if he had thrust a
dagger in my heart! Oh, the pity of it that he was so unworthy, while
I loved him so! Those dark, flashing eyes, I only saw heaven in them,
while they were false as hell! Those lips, how honey-sweet they were;
but their kisses were lies; they all belonged to Josephine, his heart’s
love!” Again, with a gesture of loathing, she brushed the false kisses
from her writhing lips, and went on hoarsely:
“A forsaken bride, deserted at the altar; a thing for all to pity, for
Josephine to laugh and mock at, the light coquette! I tell you, Byrd
Barrington, I cannot bear it; I will not! I must get free from these
fetters that chafe like iron bands! I can have no self-respect left if
I wear his name an hour longer than I can help it! Oh, Byrd, for God’s
sake, say that you will set me free?”
While she raved on he was pale as death, a cold dew beaded his high,
white brow, her words pierced his heart like arrows.
But he answered with forced calmness:
“My dear sister, I would do anything in reason, but this is impossible!”
“No, no!” she denied violently.
“Impossible!” he repeated, sadly but firmly. “You married Delmar
of your own free will, Maisie, and he has not given you any cause
for divorce. Many husbands have left loving brides to answer their
country’s call to arms, but the law does not recognize that as a legal
cause for divorce, so you really have no case in law.”
Despair overmastered her so that she could not speak, and he feared for
a moment she was going to faint. He put a glass of water to her dry
lips and she swallowed a few drops, still speechless, in her terrible
disappointment.
Barrington took advantage of her silence to attempt to argue the case
with her, to soothe her, to predict again that all would be right soon.
Delmar would quickly learn to love her, and her own love would return.
He did not blame her much for her anger now but it would not last, and
when she grew calmer she could look at the case from both sides. She
would pity Delmar for his madness, and forgive him, remembering how
desperate he must have been, losing love and fortune all at one fell
blow.
To his eloquent pleading she listened in silence and with a growing
wonder, until at last she made a gesture for him to pause.
“You fill me with amazement!” she cried angrily. “I thought you would
be eager for revenge on Del. I thought you would take my part! I cannot
comprehend why you refuse to help me! I never suspected you of being
goody-goody.”
“But I have told you, Maisie, that what you wish is impossible; that
there exists no legal cause for divorce from your husband!”
“You have said so, but I do not believe you. Rather, I suspect that you
are glad of my disillusionment, secretly rejoiced at my punishment,
laughing in your sleeve at my despair. It is your sweet revenge because
I would not love you!”
He put out his hand, as if to ward off a stinging blow, but the angry,
desperate girl continued to speak, playing now her last card, one on
which she counted confidently to win.
“Come, I will test your goodness, Byrd; I will tempt you through the
love you profess for me!”
He started violently, and she raved on:
“People say you are very clever, and I do not doubt it, else how could
you have influenced your own father so cleverly and turned his heart
against his younger son! I am sure that if you chose you could manage
that divorce for me, and I am willing to pay the price. I thought
revenge on Del would move you, but since it will not, what of love?
Do you--love--me--still? Will you get me free of Delmar’s claim if I
promise--to--marry--you--the--moment--I am free?”
She paused and waited for his answer, with a gleam of triumph in her
great pansy-purple eyes, never doubting for a moment what his answer
would be.
As for him, he caught his breath with a thrill of rapture, so keen it
was positive pain.
Ah, to take her at her word--the lovely creature he had coveted so
madly; to have her for his own; to take her unrebuked in his arms, to
press those pouting scarlet lips with his own--the delicious joy of the
thought made his heart leap wildly.
It was he who was stricken speechless now. He could only look at her
with silent, agonized passion in his sparkling blue eyes.
Maisie gave a light, mocking laugh, chill as the ripple of a streamlet
just released from icy bondage, and held out her beautiful white hand,
exclaiming:
“I have won!”
But Byrd Barrington recoiled, answering huskily:
“No.”
“You refuse my offer?” furiously.
“Maisie, I must.”
If a look could have slain, the lightning anger of her glance must have
stretched him dead at her feet. He quailed before it, but he did not
retract his words.
Then a slow, scarlet wave crept up over the pallor of her exquisite
face and flooded it with blushes, as she began to realize what she had
done in her fury of rage and despair.
She, a married woman, had deliberately offered her hand to this man as
the price of her freedom from another, and she had been refused. She
would never get over the shock, the humiliation, to her dying day.
She got up slowly to her feet and faced the silent man, her cheeks
burning, her eyes flashing, her whole form trembling, her hand
outstretched, while she denounced him:
“I hope that you are enjoying your revenge to the utmost, Byrd
Barrington! I see that you never really loved me! I shall never forget
how cruel you have been to me, how you refused the prayer I made to you
on my knees, and I shall hate you from this hour quite as bitterly as
I hate your cruel brother, and, mark me, if I live you shall rue this
hour!”
She rushed from the room in an agony of resentment, leaving him there
alone gazing after her, with a deathly white face and anguished eyes,
while over his blanched lips faltered in tense accents the prayer:
“Lead us not into temptation!”
In her passion of anger and humiliation, Maisie scarcely knew how she
ever reached her own room again.
But once there, she did not take time to think twice before carrying
out a suddenly formed resolution to leave Castellane forever.
She locked the door, slipped off her dainty wedding-gown, and tore it
into a dozen fragments, that she left in a litter upon the floor. With
the same reckless haste she dressed herself in a plain black suit and
close hat and veil.
She had a hand-bag ready, that she had packed for last night’s
flitting, and in her desk was the curt note she had written telling
Mrs. French that she was shaking the dust of Castellane from her feet
forever. It would answer just as well now; so she fastened it on her
pincushion in plain view, took up her hand-bag, and fled from the
house, wretched and self-exiled, a bride whose love had turned to hate
in an hour, whose dearest wish was never to see her husband’s face
again.
She knew that the north-bound train was leaving very soon, and hurrying
on over the mile of distance between Castellane and the station, she
found herself too late to purchase a ticket, and got into a seat in a
day-coach, just in time to settle herself before the train started.
Sinking back in her seat, with a sort of bitter triumph, Maisie watched
the flying landscape through eyes that were blurred with angry tears,
till startled by the conductor’s voice asking for her ticket.
She started and looked up, faltering:
“I--I did not have time to buy my ticket. I will pay my fare. How far
can I go for--about ten dollars?”
“To New York, miss.”
“Very well,” and she handed him a crisp ten-dollar bill.