I never knew what became of it until my wife displayed
it, that day when she taunted me with my crime. Poor Alexandrine! She had
the misfortune to love me, and after your renunciation and your departure
from New York--in those days when I deemed you false as fair--I offered
her my hand. I thought perhaps she might be happier as my wife, and I
felt that I owed her something for her devoted love. I tried to do my
duty by her, but a man never can do that by his wife, unless he loves
her."
"You acted for what you thought was best, Archer."
"I did. Heaven knows I did. She died in coming to me to ask my
forgiveness for the taunting words she had spoken at our last parting. I
was cruel. I went away from her in pride and anger, and left behind me no
means by which she could communicate with me. I deserved to suffer, and I
have."
"And I also, Archer."
"My poor Margie! Do you know, dear, that it was the knowledge that you
wanted me which was sending me home again? A month ago I saw Louis
Castrani in Paris. He told me everything. He was delicate enough about
it, darling; you need not blush for fear he might have told me you were
grieving for me; but he made me understand that my future might not be so
dark as I had begun to regard it. He read to me the dying confession of
Arabel Vere, and made clear many things regarding which I had previously
been in the dark.
Pages:
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177