Blinded by passion, indignant that Molly should have the hardihood to
attempt any defense of her treachery, Cecil Laurens had turned a deaf
ear to her pleadings and hurried from the room.
But he did not go back to the conclave in the parlor. He hurried along
the hall to the room he had occupied in solitude last night, entered
and locked the door.
Moved and agitated in spite of his strong self-will, he walked
restlessly up and down the floor.
“The girl must be mad to think I could pardon her sin,” he exclaimed.
“Great heavens, when I think that she belonged to John Keith when she
went through that farce of a marriage with me, I go mad with rage!
But for that--but for the deep treachery of that falsehood to him and
to me, I believe I could have forgiven all the rest, for I am sure
she loved me! But, oh, God, to think of one so young, so lovely, so
apparently innocent, yet steeped to the lips in duplicity! How did
she have the heart to abandon him and to deceive me as she did? I can
not forgive her, even though she pleads that it was love for me that
tempted her! And after all was it love? I must remember that John Keith
was very poor and I was very rich. She may have deserted him for the
sake of gold.”
The suspicion maddened him. He flung himself down before his
writing-desk, caught up the pen and wrote recklessly:
“MADAME,--I neither desire nor will accept any explanation or excuse
for your treachery. The reasons, alas, are all too plain. I was
rich, John Keith was poor, so you threw him over for me! You see I
understand it all, and nothing you can say or do can palliate your
horrible treachery! I despise you, and although I have today for
honor’s sake given you the shelter of my name, we shall never more be
husband and wife save in name. Even in the same house I shall live
apart from you, never seeing you when I can avoid it, never speaking
to you unless it is forced upon me, although the world outside must
never dream of our secret alienations. The money you sinned for you
still shall have, but my respect and love never again! You understand
that this is final. I will listen to no appeals. If you speak to me
I will turn from you, if you write to me I will return your letters
unread. I will not even listen to any one who speaks to me in your
behalf. I hold your sin and folly as past all forgiveness.
“CECIL LAURENS.”
He did not even read it over, so fierce was his anger, so impatient his
mood. Thrusting it hastily into an envelope he wrote upon the back her
name, “Mrs. Cecil Laurens.”
Taking the unsealed letter in his hand he went along the hall and
tapped at the door of her room.
Phebe responded to his light knock. As the door flew open he saw Molly
lying on her bed with her delicate hands before her face.
“This is for your mistress,” he said, thrusting the letter into the
hand of the maid, and turning away hastily, but not so fast that he
saw his wife spring upright, eagerly, to receive the missive. The door
closed quickly on him and he went back to the parlor with a strangely
heavy heart.
The little group of women started guiltily at his entrance, and he knew
by their looks that they had been discussing him and his troubles;
but no one said a word, only Louise Barry gave him a look of silent
sympathy from her golden eyes that spoke volumes.
“What a stately beauty she is,” he thought, and suddenly remembered all
that Molly had told him of her step-sister’s strange beauty.
“She _is_ handsome; but her eyes with their strange yellow gleams make
one think of a tigress,” he mused, and then he asked himself, soberly:
“If this one had come to Ferndale instead of that misguided girl could
I have loved her as I loved that little enchantress?”
It almost seemed to him like a wrong to that handsome, high-born beauty
when his heart impetuously answered no.
There came to him a memory of what his brother had said yesterday:
“What is there in a name that you should hate her so? She is the same
girl you loved and married, call her by what name you will.”