When Miranda awakened from her swoon, the lamp was burning dimly, and
the first light of dawn came faintly through the blinds. All was still
around her, and for some moments she could not recall the terrible scene
which had passed before her eyes. Presently her fingers came in contact
with the clots of gore that were thickening on her garment, and she
arose quickly, and, with a shudder, tottered against the wall. Her eyes
fell upon Moll's white face, the brow mangled and bruised, and the
dishevelled hair soaking in the crimson tide that kept faintly oozing
from the cut. She was alone in the house with that terrible object; for
Philip, careless of her convenience, had only procured the services of a
girl from a neighboring farm-house, who attended to the household duties
during the day, and went home in the evening. But her womanly compassion
was stronger than her sense of horror, and kneeling by the side of the
prostrate woman, with inexpressible relief she perceived, by the slight
pulsation of the heart, that life was there. Entering her chamber, she
hastily put on a morning wrapper, and returning with towel and water,
raised Moll's head upon her lap, and washed the thick blood from her
face. The cooling moisture revived the wounded woman; her bosom swelled
with a deep sigh, and she opened her eyes and looked languidly around.
"How do you feel now, madam?" asked Miranda, gently.
"Who are you?" said Moll, in reply, after a moment's pause.
"Miranda--Miranda Searle, the wife of Philip," she added, trembling at
the remembrance of the woman's treatment at her husband's hands.
Molly raised herself with an effort, and sat upon the floor, looking at
Miranda, while she laughed with a loud and hollow sound.
"Philip's wife, eh? And you love him, don't you? Well, dreams can't last
forever."
"Don't you feel strong enough to get up and lie upon the bed?" asked
Miranda, soothingly, for she was uncomfortable tinder the strange glare
that the woman fixed upon her.
"I'm well enough," said Moll. "Where's Philip?"
"Indeed, I do not know. I am very sorry, ma'am, that--that"--
"Never mind. Give me a glass of water."
Miranda hastened to comply, and Moll swallowed the water, and remained
silent for a moment.
"Shan't I go for assistance?" asked Miranda, who was anxious to put an
end to this painful interview, and was also distressed about her
husband's absence. "There's no one except ourselves in the house, but I
can go to the farmer's house near by."
"Not for the world," interrupted Moll, taking her by the arm. "I'm well
enough. Here, let me lean on you. That's it. I'll sit on the
rocking-chair. Thank you. Just bind my head up, will you? Is it an ugly
cut?" she asked, as Miranda, having procured some linen, carefully
bandaged the wounded part.
"Oh, yes! It's very bad. Does it pain you much, ma'am?"
"Never mind. There, that will do. Now sit down there. Don't be afraid of
me. I ain't a-going to hurt you. It's only the cut that makes me look so
ugly."
"Oh, no! I am not at all afraid, ma'am," said Miranda, shuddering in
spite of herself.
"You are a sweet-looking girl," said Moll, fixing her haggard, but yet
beautiful eyes upon the fragile form beside her. "It's a pity you must
be unhappy. Has that fellow been unkind to you?"
"What fellow madam?"
"Philip."
"He is my husband, madam," replied Miranda, mildly, but with the
slightest accent of displeasure.
"He is, eh? Hum! You love him dearly, don't you?"
Miranda blushed, and asked:
"Do you know my husband?"
"Know him! If you knew him as well, it would be better for you. You'll
know him well enough before long. You come from Virginia, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You must go back there."
"If Philip wishes it."
"I tell you, you must go at once--to-day. I will give you money, if you
have none. And you must never speak of what has happened in this house.
Do you understand me?"
"But Philip"--
"Forget Philip. You must never see him any more. Why should you want to?
Don't you know that he's a brute, and will beat you as he beat me, if
you stay with him. Why should you care about him?"
"He is my husband, and you should not speak about him so to me," said
Miranda, struggling with her tears, and scarce knowing in what vein to
converse with the rude woman, whose strange language bewildered and
frightened her.
"Bah!" said Moll, roughly. "You're a simpleton. There, don't cry, though
heaven knows you've cause enough, poor thing! Philip Searle's a villain.
I could send him to the State prison if I chose."
"Oh, no! don't say that; indeed, don't."
"I tell you I could; but I will not, if you mind me, and do what I tell
you. I'm a bad creature, but I won't harm you, if I can help it. You
helped me when I was lying there, after that villain hurt me, and I
can't help liking you. And yet you've hurt me, too."
"I!"
"Yes. Shall I tell you a story? Poor girl! you're wretched enough now,
but you'd better know the truth at once. Listen to me: I was an innocent
girl, like you, once. Not so beautiful, perhaps, and not so good; for I
was always proud and willful, and loved to have my own way. I was a
country girl, and had money left to me by my dead parents. A young man
made my acquaintance. He was gay and handsome, and made me believe that
he loved me. Well, I married him--do you hear? I married him--at the
church, with witnesses, and a minister to make me his true and lawful
wife. Curse him! I wish he had dropped down dead at the altar. There,
you needn't shudder; it would have been well for you if he had. I
married him, and then commenced my days of sorrow and--of guilt. He
squandered my money at the gambling-table, and I was sometimes in rags
and without food. He was drunk half the time, and abused me; but I was
even with him there, and gave him as good as he gave me. He taught me to
drink, and such a time as we sometimes made together would have made
Satan blush. I thought I was low enough; but he drove me lower yet. He
put temptation in my way--he did, curse his black heart! though he
denied it. I fell as low as woman can fall, and then I suppose you think
he left me? Well, he did, for a time; he went off somewhere, and perhaps
it was then he was trying to ruin some other girl, as foolish as I had
been. But he came back, and got money from me--the wages of my sin. And
all the while, he was as handsome, and could talk as softly as if he was
a saint. And with that smooth tongue and handsome face he won another
bride, and married her--married her, I tell you; and that's why I can
send him to the State prison."
"Send him! Who? My God! what do you mean?" cried Miranda, rising slowly
from her chair, with clasped hands and ashen cheeks.
"Philip Searle, my husband!" shouted Moll, rising also, and standing
with gleaming eyes before the trembling girl.
Miranda sank slowly back into her seat, tearless, but shuddering as
with an ague fit. Only from her lips, with a moaning sound, a murmur
came:
"No, no, no! oh, no!"
"May God strike me dead this instant, if it is not true!" said Moll,
sadly; for she felt for the poor girl's, distress.
Miranda rose, her hands pressed tightly against her heart, and moved
toward the door with tottering and uncertain steps, like one who
suffocates and seeks fresh air. Then her white lips were stained with
purple; a red stream gushed from her mouth and dyed the vestment on her
bosom; and ere Moll could reach her, she had sunk, with an agonizing
sob, upon the floor.