For some days subsequent to Mrs. Carew's departure, Regina saw little
of her guardian, whose manner was unusually preoccupied, and entirely
devoid of the earnest interest and sympathy he had displayed at their
last interview. Ascribing the change to regret at the absence of the
guest whose presence had so enlivened the house, the girl avoided all
unnecessary opportunities of meeting him, and devoted herself
assiduously to her music and studies.
The marriage of a friend residing in Albany had called Olga thither,
and in the confusion and hurried preparation incident to the journey
she had found, or at least improved, no leisure to refer to the
subject of the remarks made by Mrs. Carew and Mr. Chesley relative to
Mr. Eggleston.
Mr. Congreve and Mrs. Palma had accompanied Olga to the railroad
depot, and she departed in unusually high spirits.
Several days elapsed, during which Mr. Palma's abstraction increased,
and by degrees Regina learned from his stepmother that a long pending
suit involving several millions of dollars was drawing to a close.
As counsel for the plaintiff, he was summing up and preparing his
final speech. An entire day was consumed in its delivery, and on the
following afternoon as Regina sat at the library table writing her
German exercise, she heard, his footsteps ascending with unwonted
rapidity the hall stairs. Outside the door he paused, and accosted
Mrs. Palma who hastened to meet him.
"Madam, I have won."
"Indeed, Erle, I congratulate you. I believe it involves a very large
fee?"
"Yes, twenty thousand dollars; but the victory yields other fruit
quite as valuable to me. Judges McLemore and Mayfield were on the
defence, and it cost me a very hard fight: literally--' _Palma non
sine pulvere_.' The jury deliberated only twenty minutes, and of
course I am much gratified."
"I am heartily glad, but it really is no more than I expected; for
when did you ever fail in anything of importance?"
"Most signally in one grave matter, which deeply concerns me.
Despite my efforts, Olga's animosity grows daily more intense, and it
annoys, wounds me; for you are aware that I have a very earnest
interest in her welfare. I question very much the propriety of your
course in urging this match upon her, and you know that from the
beginning I have discouraged the whole scheme. She is vastly
Congreve's superior, and I confess I do not relish the idea of seeing
her sacrifice herself so completely. I attempted to tell her so,
about a fortnight since, but she stormily forbade my mentioning
Congreve's name in her presence, and looked so like an enraged
leopardess that I desisted."
"It will prove for the best, I hope; and nothing less binding, less
decisive than this marriage will cure her of her obstinate folly.
Time will heal all, and some day, Erle, she will understand you, and
appreciate what you have done."
"My dear madam, I merely mean that I desire she should regard me as a
brother, anxious to promote her true interests; whereas she considers
me her worst enemy. Just now we will adjourn the subject, as I must
trouble you to pack my valise. I am obliged to start immediately to
Washington, and cannot wait for dinner. Will you direct Octave to
prepare a cup of coffee?"
"How long will you be absent?"
"I cannot say positively, as my business is of a character which may
be transacted in three hours, or may detain me as many days. I must
leave here in half an hour."
The door was open, and hearing what passed, Regina bent lower over
her exercise book when her guardian came forward.
Although toil-worn and paler than usual, his eyes were of a proud
glad light, that indexed gratification at his success.
Leaning against the table, he said carelessly:
"I am going to Washington, and will safely deliver any message you
feel disposed to send to your admirer, Mr. Chesley."
She glanced inquiringly at him.
"I hope you reciprocate his regard, for he expressed great interest
in your welfare."
"I liked him exceedingly; better than any gentleman I ever met,
except dear Mr. Hargrove."
"A very comprehensive admission, and eminently flattering to poor
Elliott and 'Brother' Douglass."
"Mr. Chesley is a very noble-looking old man, and seemed to me worthy
of admiration and confidence. He did not impress me as a stranger,
but rather as a dear friend."
"Doubtless I shall find the chances all against me, when you are
requested to decide between us."
A perplexed expression crossed the face she raised toward him.
"I am not as quick as Mrs. Carew in solving enigmas."
"_ A propos!_ what do you think of my charming fair client?"
Her heart quickened its pulsations, but the clear sweet voice was
quiet and steady.
"I think her exceedingly beautiful and graceful."
"When I am as successful in her suit as in the great case I won
to-day, I shall expect you to offer me very sincere congratulations."
He smiled pleasantly, as he looked at her pure face, which bad never
seemed so surpassingly lovely as just then, with white hyacinths
nestling in and perfuming her hair.
"I shall not be here then; but, Mr. Palma, wherever I am, I shall
always congratulate you upon whatever conduces to your happiness."
"Then I may consider that you have already decided in favour of Mr.
Chesley?"
"Mr. Palma, I do not quite understand your jest"
"Pardon me, it threatens to become serious. Mr. Chesley is immensely
wealthy, and having no near relatives desires to adopt some pretty,
well-bred, affectionate-natured girl, who can take care of and cheer
his old age; and to whom he can bequeath his name and fortune. His
covetous eye has fallen upon my ward, and he seriously contemplates
making some grave proposals to your mother, relative to transferring
you to Washington, and thence to San Francisco. As Mr. Chesley's
heiress, your future will be very brilliant, and I presume that in a
voluntary choice of guardians, I am destined to lose my ward."
"Very soon my mother will be my guardian, and Mr. Chesley is
certainly a gentleman of too much good sense and discretion to
entertain such a thought relative to a stranger, of whom he knows
absolutely nothing. A few polite kindly worded phrases bear no such
serious interpretation."
She had bent so persistently over her book, that he closed and
removed it beyond her reach, forcing her to regard him; for after the
toil, contention, and brain-wrestling of the courtroom, it was his
reward just now to look into her deep calm eyes, and watch the
expressions vary in her untutored ingenuous countenance.
"Men, especially confirmed old bachelors, are sometimes very
capricious and foolish; and my friend Mr. Chesley appears to have
fallen hopelessly into the depth of your eyes. In vain I assured him
that Helmholtz has demonstrated that the deepest blue eye is after
all only a turbid medium. In his infatuation he persists that science
is a learned bubble, and that your eyes are wells of truth and
inspiration. Of course you desire that I shall present your
affectionate regards to your future guardian?"
"You can improvise any message you deem advisable, but I send none."
A faint colour was stealing into her cheeks, and the long lashes
drooped before the bright black eyes, that had borne down many a
brave face on the witness stand.
The clock struck, and Mr. Palma compared his watch with its record.
He was loath to quit that charming quiet room, which held the fair
innocent young queen of his love, and hasten away upon the impending
journey; but it was important that he should not miss the railway
train, and he smothered a sigh:
"This morning I neglected to give you a letter which arrived
yesterday, and of course I need expect no pardon when you ascertain
that it is from 'India's coral strand.' If 'Brother Douglass' is as
indefatigable in the discharge of his missionary as his epistolary
labours, he deserves a crown of numerous converts. This letter was
enclosed in one addressed to me, and I prefer that you should
postpone your reply until my return. I intended to mention the matter
this morning, but was absorbed in court proceedings, and now I am too
much hurried."
She put the letter into her pocket, and at the same time drew out a
small envelope containing the amount of money she had borrowed.
Rising, she handed it to him.
"Allow me to cancel my debt."
As he received it, their fingers met, and a hot flush rushed over the
lawyer's weary face. He bit his lip, and recovered himself before she
observed his emotion.
"That alms-giving episode is destined to yield an inestimable harvest
of benefits. But I must hurry away. Pray do not take passage for the
jungles of Oude before I return, for whenever you leave me I should
at least like the ceremony of bidding my ward adieu. Good-bye."
She gave him her hand.
"Good-bye, Mr. Palma. I hope you will have a pleasant trip."
As she stood before him, the rich blue of her soft cashmere dress
rendered her pearly complexion fairer still, and though keen pain
gnawed at her heart, no hint of her suffering marred the perfection
of her face.
"Lily, where did you get those lovely white hyacinths? Yesterday I
ordered a bouquet of them, but could procure none. Would you mind
giving me the two that smell so deliciously in your hair? I want
them--well--no matter why. Will you oblige me?"
"Certainly, sir; but I have a handsomer fresher spike of flowers in
a glass in my room, which I will bring down to you."
She turned, but he detained her.
"No, these are sufficiently pretty for my purpose, and I am hurried.
I trust I may be pardoned this robbery of your floral ornaments,
since you will probably see neither Mr. Roscoe, Mr. Chesley, nor yet
Padre Sahib this evening."
She laid the snowy perfumed bells in his outstretched hand, and said:
"I am exceedingly glad that even in such a trifle I can contribute to
your pleasure, and I assure you that you are perfectly welcome to my
hyacinths."
The sweet downcast face, and slightly wavering voice appealed to all
that was tender and loving in his cold undemonstrative nature, and
he was strongly tempted to take her in his arms, and tell her the
truth, which every day he found it more difficult to conceal.
"Thank you. Some day, Lily, I will tell you their mission and fate.
Should I forget, remind me."
He smiled, bowed, and hurried from the room, leaving her sadly
perplexed.
At dinner Mrs. Palma said:
"I have promised to chaperon the Brace sisters to-night to the opera,
and shall take tea at their house. Were I sure of a seat for you, I
should insist upon taking you, for I dislike to leave you so much
alone; but the box might be full, and then things would be awkward."
"You need have no concern on my account, for I have my books, and am
accustomed to being alone. Moreover, I am not particularly partial to
the music of 'Martha' which will be played to-night."
"Did your guardian tell you he has just won that great 'Migdol' case
that created so much interest?"
"He mentioned it. Mrs. Palma, I thought he looked weary and jaded; as
if he needed a rest, rather than a journey."
"Erle is never weary. His nerves are steel, and he will speedily
forget his court-house cares in Mrs. Carew's charming conversation."
"But she is not in Washington?"
"She told me yesterday she would go there this afternoon, and showed
me the most superb maize-coloured satin just received from Worth,
which she intends wearing to-morrow evening at the French
Ambassador's ball, or reception. You know she is very fascinating,
and though Erle thinks little about women, I really believe she will
succeed in driving law books, for a little while at least, out of his
cool clear head. My dear, I am going to write a short note. Will you
please direct Hattie to bring my opera hat, cloak, and glasses?"
With inexpressible relief, Regina heard the heavy silk rustle across
the hall, when she took her departure, and rejoiced in the assurance
that there was no one to intrude upon her solitude.
How she wished that she could fly to some desert, where undiscovered
she might cry aloud, in the great agony that possessed her heart.
The thought that her guardian had hastened away to accompany that
grey-eyed, golden-haired witch of a woman to Washington was
intolerably bitter; and as she contemplated the possibility, nay the
probability, of his speedy marriage, a wild longing seized her to
make her escape, and avoid the sight of such a spectacle.
When she recalled his proud, handsome, composed face, and tried to
imagine him the husband of Mrs. Carew, bending over, caressing her,
the girl threw her arms on his writing desk, and sunk her face upon
them, as if to shut out the torturing vision.
She knew that he was singularly reserved and undemonstrative; she had
never seen him fondle or caress anything, and the bare thought that
his stern marble lips would some day seek and press that woman's
scarlet mouth made her shiver with a pang that was almost maddening.
How cruelly mocking that he should take her favourite snowy hyacinths
to offer them to Mrs. Carew! Did his keen insight penetrate the folly
she had suffered to grow up in her own heart, and had he coolly
resorted to this method of teaching her its hopelessness?
If she could leave New York before his return, and never see him
again, would it not be best? His eyes were so piercing, he was so
accustomed to reading people's emotions in their countenance, and she
felt that she could not survive his discovery of her secret.
What did his irony relative to India portend? Hitherto she had quite
forgotten the letter from Mr. Lindsay, and now breaking the seal,
sought an explanation.
A few faded flowers fell out as she unfolded it, and ere she
completed the perusal a cry escaped her. Mr. Lindsay wrote that his
health had suffered so severely from the climate of India that he had
been compelled to surrender his missionary work to stronger hands,
and would return to his native land. He believed that rest and
America would restore him, and now he fully declared the nature of
his affection, and the happiness with which he anticipated his
reunion with her; reminding her of her farewell promise that none
should have his place in her heart. More than once she read the
closing words of that long letter.
"I had intended deferring this declaration until you were
eighteen, and restored to your mother's care; but my unexpectedly
early return, and the assurance contained in your letters that
your love has in no degree diminished, determine me to acquaint
you at once with the precious hope that so gladdens the thought
of our approaching reunion. While your decision must of course be
subject to and dependent on your mother's approval, I wish you to
consult only the dictates of your heart, believing that all my
future must be either brightened or clouded by your verdict. Open
the package given to you in our last interview, and if you have
faithfully kept your promise let me see upon your hand the ring
which I shall regard as the pledge of our betrothal. Whether I
live many or few years, God grant that your love may glorify and
sanctify my earthly sojourn. In life or death, my darling Regina,
believe me always,
"Your devoted
"DOUGLASS."
Below the signature, and dated a week later, were several lines in
Mrs. Lindsay's handwriting, informing her that her son had again been
quite ill, but was improving; and that within the ensuing ten days
they expected to sail for Japan, and thence to San Franciso, where
Mrs. Lindsay's only sister resided. In conclusion she earnestly
appealed to Regina, as the daughter of her adoption, not to
extinguish the hope that formed so powerful an element in the
recovery of her son Douglass.
Was it the mercy of God, or the grim decree of fatalism, or the
merest accident that provided this door of escape, when she was
growing desperate?
Numb with heart-ache, and strangely bewildered, Regina could
recognize it only as a providential harbour, into which she could
safely retreat from the storm of suffering that was beginning to roar
around her. Recalling the peaceful happy years spent at the
parsonage, and the noble character of the man who loved her so
devotedly, who had so tenderly cared for her through the season of
her childhood, a gush of grateful emotion pleaded that she owed him
all that he now asked.
When she contrasted the image of the pale student, so affectionate,
so unselfishly considerate in all things, with the commanding figure
and cold, guarded, non-committal face of Mr. Palma, she shivered and
groaned: but the comparison only goaded her to find safety in the
sheltering love, that must at least give her peace.
If she were Douglass Lindsay's wife, would she not find it far easier
to forget her guardian? Would it be sinful to promise her hand to
one, while her heart stubbornly enshrined the other? She loved Mr.
Lindsay very much: he seemed holy, in his supremely unselfish and
deeply religious life; and after awhile perhaps other feelings would
grow up toward him.
In re-reading the letter, she saw that Mr. Lindsay had informed Mr.
Palma of the proposal which it contained; as he deemed it due to her
guardian to acquaint him with the sentiments they entertained for
each other.
Should she reject the priestly hand and loyal heart of the young
missionary, would not Mr. Palma suspect the truth?
She realized that the love in her heart was of that deep exhaustive
nature which comes but once to women, and since she must bury it for
ever, was it not right that she should dedicate her life to promoting
Mr. Lindsay's happiness? Next to her mother, did she not owe him more
than any other human being?
As she sat leaning upon Mr. Palma's desk, she saw his handkerchief
near the inkstand, where he had dropped it early that morning; and
taking it up, she drew it caressingly across her check and lips.
Everything in this room, where since her residence in New York she
had been accustomed to see him, grew sacred from association with
him, and all that he touched was strangely dear.
For two hours she sat there, very quiet, weighing the past,
considering the future; and at last she slowly resolved upon her
course.
She would write that night to her mother, enclose Mr. Lindsay's
letter, and if her mother's permission could be obtained, she would
give her hand to Douglass, and in his love forget the brief madness
that now made her so wretched.
From the date of the postscript she discovered that the letter had
been delayed _en route_, and computing the time from Yokohama to San
Francisco, according to information given by Mr. Chesley, she found
that unless some unusual detention had occurred, the vessel in which
Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay intended to sail should have already reached
California.
Mr. Palma's jest relative to India was explained; and evidently he
had not sufficient interest in her decision even to pause and ask it.
Knowing the contents, he had with cold indifference carried the
letter for two days in his pocket, and handed it to her just as he
was departing.
She imagined him sitting in the car, beside Mrs. Carew, admiring her
beauty, perhaps uttering in her ear tender vows, never breathed by
his lips to any other person; while she--the waif, the fatherless,
nameless, obscure young girl--sat there alone desperately fighting
the battle of destiny.
Bitter as was this suggestion of her aching heart, it brought
strength; and rising, she laid aside the handkerchief, and quitted
the apartment that babbled ceaselessly of its absent master.
Among some precious souvenirs of her mother she kept the package
which had been given to her by Mr. Lindsay with the request that it
should remain unopened until her eighteenth birthday; and how she
unlocked the small ebony box that contained her few treasures.
The parcel was sealed with red wax, and when she removed the
enveloping pasteboard, she found a heavy gold ring, bearing a large
beautifully tinted opal, surrounded with small diamonds. On the
inside was engraved "Douglass and Regina," with the date of the day
on which he had left the parsonage for India.
Kneeling beside her bed, she prayed that God would help her to do
right, would guide her into the proper path, would enable her to do
her duty, first to her mother, then to Mr. Lindsay.
When she rose, the ring shone on her left hand, and though her face
was worn and pallid her mournful eyes were undimmed, and she sat down
to write her mother frankly concerning the feelings of intense
gratitude and perfect confidence which prompted her to accept Mr.
Lindsay's offer, provided Mrs Orme consented to the betrothal.
Ere she had concluded the task, her attention was attracted by a
noise on the stairs that were situated near her door.
It was rather too early for Mrs. Palma's return from the opera, and
the servants were all in a different portion of the building.
Regina laid down her pen, and listened. Slow heavy footsteps were
ascending, and recognizing nothing familiar in the sound, she walked
quickly to the door which stood ajar, and looked out.
A tall woman wrapped in a heavy shawl had reached the landing, and as
the gaslight fell upon her, Regina started forward.
"Olga! we did not expect you until to-morrow, but you are disguised!
Oh! what is the matter?"
Wan and haggard, apparently ten years older than when she ran down
these steps a week previous departing for Albany, Olga stood clinging
to the mahogany rail of the balustrade. Her large straw bonnet had
fallen back, the heavy hair was slipping low on neck and brow, and
her sunken eyes had a dreary stare.
"Are you ill? What has happened? Dear Olga, speak to me."
She threw her arms around the regal figure, and felt that she was
shivering from head to foot.
As she became aware of the close clinging embrace in which Regina
held her, a ghastly smile parted Olga's colourless lips, and she said
said in a husky whisper:
"Is it you? True little heart; the only one left in all the world."
After a few seconds, she added:
"Where is mamma?"
"At the opera."
"To see Beelzebub? All the world is singing and playing that now, and
you may be sure that you and I shall be in at the final chorus.
Regina----"
She swept her hand feebly over her forehead, and seemed to forget
herself.
Then she rallied, and a sudden spark glowed in her dull eyes, as when
a gust stirs an ash heap, and uncovers a dying ember.
"Erle Palma?"
"Has gone to Washington."
"May he never come back! O God! a hundred deaths would not satisfy
me! A hundred graves were not sufficient to hide him from my sight!"
She groaned and clasped her hand across her eyes.
"What dreadful thing has occurred? Tell me, you know that you can
trust me."
"Trust! no, no; not even the archangels that fan the throne of God. I
have done with trust. Take me in your room a little while. Hide me
from mamma until to-morrow; then it will make no difference who sees
me."
Regina led her to the low rocking chair in her own room, and took off
the common shawl and bonnet which she had used as a disguise, then
seized her cold nerveless hand.
"Do tell me your great sorrow."
"Something rare nowaday. I had a heart, a live, warm, loving heart,
and it is broken; dead--utterly dead. Regina, I was so happy
yesterday. Oh! I stood at the very gate of heaven, so close that all
the glory and the sweetness blew upon me, like June breezes over a
rose hedge; and the angels seemed to beckon me in. I went to meet
Belmont, to join him for ever, to turn my back on the world, and as
his wife pass into the Eden of his love and presence.... Now, another
gate yawns, and the fiends call me to come down, and if there really
be a hell, why then----"
For nearly a moment she remained silent.
"Olga, is he ill? Is he dead?"
A cry as of one indeed broken-hearted came from her quivering lips,
and she clasped her arms over her head.
"Oh, if he were indeed dead! If I could have seen him and kissed him
in his coffin! And known that he was still mine, all mine, even in
the grave----"
Her head sank upon her bosom, and after a brief pause she resumed in
an unnaturally calm voice.
"My world so lovely yesterday has gone to pieces; and for me life is
a black crumbling ruin. I hung all my hopes, my prayers, my fondest
dreams on one shining silver thread of trust, and it snapped, and all
fall together. We ask for fish, and are stung by scorpions; we pray
for bread--only bare bread for famishing hearts--and we are stoned.
Ah! it appears only a hideous dream; but I know it is awfully,
horribly true."
"What is true? Don't keep me in suspense."
Olga bent forward, put her large hands on Regina's shoulders as the
latter knelt in front of her, and answered drearily:
"He is married."
"Not Mr. Eggleston?"
"Yes, my Belmont. For so many years he has been entirely mine, and
oh, how I loved him! Now he is that woman's husband. Bought with her
gold. I intended to run away and marry him; go with him to Europe,
where I should never see Erle Palma's cold devilish black eyes again.
Where in some humble little room hid among the mountains, I could be
happy with my darling. I sold my jewellery, even my richest clothing,
that I might have a little money to defray expenses. Then I wrote
Belmont of my plans, told him I had forsaken everything for him, and
appointed a place in this city where we could meet. I hastened down
from Albany, disguised myself, and went to the place of rendezvous.
After waiting a long time, his cousin came; brought me a letter,
showed me the marriage notice. Only two days ago they--Belmont and
that woman--were married, and they sailed for Europe at noon to-day,
in the steamer upon which I had expected to go as a bride. He wrote
that with failing health, penury staring him in the face, and,
despairing at last of being able to win me, he had grown reckless,
and sold himself to that wealthy widow who had long loved him, and
who would provide generously for his helpless mother. He said he
dared not trust himself to see me again. And so, all is over for
ever."
She dropped her head on her clenched hands, and shuddered. "Dear
Olga, he was not worthy of you, or he would never have deserted you.
If he truly loved you, he never could have married another, for----"
She paused, for the shimmer of the diamonds on her hand accused her.
Was she not contemplating similar treachery? Loving one man, how dare
she entertain the thought of listening to another's suit. She was
deeply and sincerely attached to Douglass, she reverenced him more
than any living being; but she knew that it was not the same feeling
her heart had declared for her guardian, and she felt condemned by
her own words.
Olga made an impatient motion, and answered:
"Hush--not a word against him; none shall dishonour him. He was
maddened, desperate. My poor darling! Erle Palma and mamma were too
much for us, but we shall conquer at last. Belmont will not live many
months; he had a hemorrhage from his lungs last week, and in a little
while we shall be united. He will not long wait to join me."
She leaned back and smiled triumphantly, and Regina became uneasy as
she noted the unnatural expression of her eyes.
"What do you mean, Olga? You make me unhappy, and I am afraid you are
ill."
"No, dear; but I am tired. So tired of everything in this hollow,
heartless, shameful world, that I want to lie down and rest. For
eight years nearly I have leaned on one hope for comfort; now it has
crumbled under me, and I have no strength. Will you let me sleep here
with you to-night? I will not keep you awake."
"Let me help you to undress. You know I shall be glad to have you
here."
Regina unbuttoned her shoes, and began to draw them off, while Olga
mechanically took down and twisted her weighty hair. Once she put her
hand on her pocket, and her eyes glittered.
"I want a glass of wine, or anything that will quiet me. Please go
down to the dining-room, and get me something to put me to sleep. My
head feels as if it were on fire."
The tone was so unusually coaxing, that Regina's suspicions were
aroused.
"I don't know where to find the key of the wine closet."
"Then wake Octave, and tell him to give you some wine He keeps port
and madeira for soups and sauces. You must I would do as much for
you. I will go to Octave."
She attempted to rise, but Regina feigned acquiescence, and left the
room, closing the door, but leaving a crevice. Outside, she knelt
down and peeped through the key-hole.
Alarmed by the unnatural expression of the fiery hazel eyes, a
horrible dread overshadowed her, and she trembled from head to foot.
While she watched, Olga rose, turned her head and listened intently;
then drew something from her pocket, and Regina saw that it was a
glass vial.
"I win at last. To-morrow, mamma and her stepson will not exult over
this victory. If I have an immortal soul may God--my Maker and
Judge--have mercy upon me!"
She drew out the cork with her teeth, turned, and as she lifted the
vial to her lips, Regina ran in and seized her arm.
"Olga, you are mad! Would you murder yourself?"
They grappled; Olga was much taller and now desperately strong, but
luckily Regina had her fingers also on the glass, and, dragging down
the hand that clenched it, the vial was inverted, and a portion of
the contents fell upon the carpet.
Feeling the liquid run through her fingers, Olga uttered la cry of
baffled rage of despair, and struck the girl a heavy blow in the face
that made her stagger; but almost frantic with terror Regina improved
the opportunity afforded by the withdrawal of one of the large hands,
to tighten her own grasp, and in the renewed struggle succeeded in
wrenching away the vial. The next instant, she hurled it against the
marble mantlepiece, and saw it splintered into numberless fragments.
As the wretched woman watched the fluid oozing over the hearth, she
cried out and covered her face with her hands.
"Dear Olga, you are delirious, and don't know what you are doing. Go
to bed, and when you lie down, I will get the wine for you. Please,
dear Olga! You wring my heart."
"Oh, you call yourself my friend, and you have been most cruel of
all! You keep me from going to a rest that would have no dreams, and
no waking, and no to-morrow. Do you think I will live and let them
taunt me with my folly, my failure? Let that iron fiend show his
white teeth, and triumph over me? People will know I sold my clothes,
and tried to run away, and was forsaken. Oh! if you had only let me
alone! I should very soon lave been quiet; out of even Erle Palma's
way! Now----"
She gave utterance to a low, distressing wail, and rocked herself,
murmuring some incoherent words.
"Olga, your mother has come, and unless you wish her to hear you, and
come in, do try to compose yourself."
Shuddering at the mention of her mother, she grew silent, moody, and
suffered Regina to undress her. After a long while, during which she
appeared absolutely deaf to all appeals, she rose, smiled strangely,
and threw herself across the bed; but the eyes were beginning to
sparkle, and now and then she laughed almost hysterically.
When an hour had passed, and no sound came from the prostrate figure,
Regina leaned over to look at her, and discovered that she was
whispering rapidly some unintelligible words.
Once she startled up, exclaiming:
"Don't have such a hot fire! My head is scorching."
Regina watched her anxiously, softly stroking one of her hands,
trying to soothe her to sleep; but after two o'clock, when she grew
more restless and incoherent in her muttering, the young nurse felt
assured she was sinking into delirium, and decided to consult Mrs.
Palma.
Concealing the shawl and bonnet, and gathering up the most
conspicuous fragments of glass on the hearth, she put them out of
sight, and hurried to Mrs. Palma's room.
She was astonished to find her still awake, sitting before a table,
and holding a note in her hand.
"What is the matter, Regina?"
"Olga has come home, and I fear she is very ill. Certainly she is
delirious."
"Oh! then she has heard it already! She must have seen the paper. I
knew nothing of it until to-night, when Erle's hasty note from
Philadelphia reached me, after I left the opera. I dreaded the effect
upon my poor, unfortunate child. Where is she?"
"In my room."