His rigid lips were stern and pale; his dark eyes fairly
shot lightnings. He looked at his wife, as though he would read her very
soul.
"Alexandrine!" he said, hoarsely, "you believed this of me? You deemed me
guilty of the crime of murder, and yet you married me?"
"Yes, I married you. I was not so conscientious as your saintly Margaret.
She would not marry a man who had shed blood--even though he had done it
for love of her!"
Trevlyn caught her arm fiercely.
"Madam, do you mean to say that this shameful story ever came to the ears
of Margie Harrison?"
"Yes, she knew it. I told it to her myself! Kill me, if you like," she
added, seeing his fearful face; "it will not be your first crime!"
He forced himself to be calm.
"When did you make this revelation to Margaret?"
"The night before she left New York--the night she was to have gone to
the opera with you. I deemed it my duty. I did not do it to separate you,
though I am willing to confess that I desired you to be separated. I knew
that Margaret would sooner die than marry you, if the knowledge of your
crime was possessed by her."
"And she--Margaret--believed me guilty?"
"Why should she not? Any jury of twelve impartial men would have
committed you on the evidence I could have brought.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147