Part 21 (2/2)
”Ha! you have married again!” he exclaimed, with a start, while he searched her face with a despairing look.
”Married again?” she repeated, with curling lips. ”I have not so perjured myself.”
”But--but--”'
”Yes, I know what you would say,” she interposed, with a proud little gesture; ”nevertheless, I claim the matron's t.i.tle, and 'Stewart' was my mother's maiden name,” and she was about to pa.s.s on again.
”Stay!” said the man, nervously. ”I--I must see you again--I must talk further with you.”
”Very well,” the lady coldly returned, ”and I also have some things which I wish to say to you. I shall be at the Copley Square Hotel on Thursday afternoon. I will see you as early as you choose to call.”
Then, with an air of grave dignity, she pa.s.sed on, and down the stairs, without casting one backward glance at him.
The man leaned over the bal.u.s.trade and watched her.
She moved like a queen.
In the hall below she was joined by her attendant, whom she welcomed with a ravis.h.i.+ng smile, and the next moment they had pa.s.sed out of the house together.
”Heavens! and I deserted that glorious woman for--a virago!” Gerald G.o.ddard muttered, hoa.r.s.ely, as he strode, white and wretched, to his room.
CHAPTER XVI.
”YOU SHALL NEVER WANT FOR A FRIEND.”
Up in the third story, poor Edith lay upon her bed, still in an unconscious state.
All the wedding finery had been removed and carried away, and she lay scarcely less white than the spotless _robe de nuit_ she wore, her lips blue and pinched, her eyes sunken and closed.
A physician sat beside her, his fingers upon her pulse, his eyes gravely fixed upon the beautiful, waxen face lying on the pillow.
Two housemaids, looking frightened and anxious, were seated near him, watching him and the still figure on the bed, but ready to obey whatever command he might issue to them.
After introducing his sister to Mrs. Stewart, Emil Correlli had slipped away from the scene of gayety, which had become almost maddening to him, and mounted to that third-story room to inquire again regarding the condition of the girl he had so wronged.
”No better,” came the answer, which made him turn with dread, and a terrible fear to take possession of his heart.
What if Edith should never revive? What if she should die in one of these dreadful swoons?
His guilty conscience warned him that he would have been her murderer.
He could not endure the thought, and slinking away to his own room, he drank deeply to stupefy himself, and then went to bed.
Gerald G.o.ddard also was strangely exercised over the fair girl's condition, and half an hour after his interview with Mrs. Stewart he crept forth from his room again and went to see if there had been any change in her condition.
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