It was
shrouded in the gloom of almost utter darkness. The heavy silken curtains
fell drooping with their costliness to the velvet carpet, and a faint,
sickening odor of withering water lilies pervaded the close atmosphere.
Water lilies!--they were Alexandrine's favorite flowers.
Margie stopped by the door until her eyes became accustomed to the
gloom, and then she saw that the centre of the room was occupied by a
table, on which lay some rigid object--strangely long, and still, and
angular--covered with a drapery of black velvet, looped up by dying water
lilies.
Still controlled by that feeling of strange awe, Margie stole along to
the table and lifted the massive cover. She saw beneath it the pale, dead
face of Alexandrine Trevlyn. She dropped the pall, uttered a cry of
horror, and sank upon a chair. The door unclosed noiselessly, and Mrs.
Lee, the mother of the dead woman, came in.
"Oh, Margie! Margie!" she cried, "pity me! My heart is broken! My
darling! My only child is taken from me!"
It was long before she grew composed enough to give any explanation of
the tragedy--for tragedy Margie felt sure it was.
The story can be told in a few brief words. Alexandrine and her husband
had had some difficulty. Mrs. Lee could not tell in relation to what, but
she knew that Alexandrine blamed herself for the part she had taken.
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