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Augusta, Clara, 1839-1905

"The Fatal Glove"

Has this matter, of
which you hesitate to tell me, anything to do with--with Mr. Archer
Trevlyn?"
Her voice sank to a whisper, before the sentence was finished, for she
had never spoken his name since that fearful night on which his guilt had
been revealed to her.
"I will reply to your question by asking another; and, if it seems
impertinent, remember that it is not so intended, and that I do not ask
it from any vulgar feeling of curiosity."
"You can ask nothing impertinent, Mr. Castrani," she replied, earnestly.
"Thank you. I do not intend to. Are you betrothed to Archer Trevlyn?"
She grew very pale, but her eyes met his fearlessly.
"I _was_ once. But it is all over, now," with a dreary sigh, that was
like the breath of the autumn wind through the dead leaves.
"Before you left New York--was it over before that?"
"Yes, before I left New York. It was why I left there. I cannot tell you
how it was--I can never tell any human being. But a terrible necessity
arose which forced us apart."
"Did he--did Arch Trevlyn desert you, Miss Harrison?" asked Castrani, his
brow contracting, his dark eyes glowing with indignation.
"No; it was my hand that severed the engagement. Do not blame him for
that. It was impossible that it should be fulfilled.


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