Part 34 (1/2)
”Will you tell me your name?” she questioned, gently, after a moment or two of silence. ”Pardon me,” she added, flus.h.i.+ng, as her companion looked up sharply, ”I am not curious, but I do not know how to address you.”
”Giulia Fiorini. Holy Mother forgive me the shame I have brought upon it!” she returned, with a sob. ”I have called him”--laying her trembling hand upon the soft, silky curls of her child--”Ino Emil.”
”Thank you,” said Edith, ”and for your confidence in me as well. You have been greatly wronged; and if there is any justice or humanity in law, this tie, which so fetters me, shall be annulled; then, perchance, Monsieur Correlli may be persuaded to do what is right toward you.
”No, lady, I have no hope of that,” said Giulia, dejectedly, ”for when a man begins to tire of the woman whom he has injured he also begins to despise her, and to consider himself ill-used because she even dares to exist.”
”Perhaps you would wish to repudiate him,” suggested Edith, who felt that such would be her att.i.tude toward any man who had so wronged her.
”Oh, no; much as I have suffered, I still love Emil, and would gladly serve him for the remainder of my life, if he would but honor me with his name; but I know him too well ever to hope for that--I know that he is utterly selfish and would mercilessly set his heel upon me if I should attempt to stand in the way of his purposes. There is nothing left for me but to go back to my own country, confess my sin to my parents, and hide myself from the world until I die.”
”Ah! but you forget that you have your child to rear and educate, his mind and life to mold, and--try to make him a better man than his father,” said Edith, with a tender earnestness, which instantly melted the injured girl to tears.
”Oh, that you should have thought of that, when I, his mother, forget my duty to him, and think only of my own unhappiness!” sobbed the conscience-stricken girl, as she hugged the wondering child closer to her breast. ”Yesterday I told myself that I would send Ino to him, and then end my misery forever.”
”Don't!” exclaimed Edith, sharply, her face almost convulsed with pain. ”Your life belongs to G.o.d, and--this baby. Live above your trouble, Giulia; never let your darling have the pain and shame of learning that his mother was a suicide. If you have made one mistake, do not imagine that you can expiate it by committing another a hundred-fold worse. Ah! think what comfort there would be in rearing your boy to a n.o.ble manhood, and then hear him say, 'What I am my mother has made me!'”
She had spoken earnestly, appealingly, and when she ceased, the unhappy woman seized her hand and covered it with kisses.
”Oh, you have saved me!” she sobbed; ”you have poured oil into my wounds. I will do as you say--I will rise above my sin and shame; and if Ino lives to be an honor to himself and the world, I shall tell him of the angel who saved us both. I am very sorry for you,” she added, looking, regretfully, up at Edith; ”I could almost lay down my life for you now; but--Correlli is rich--very rich, and you may, perhaps, be able to get some comfort out of life by--”
Edith started to her feet, her face crimson.
”What?” she cried, scornfully, ”do you suppose that I could ever take pleasure in spending even one dollar of his money? Look there!”
pointing to the elegant apparel upon the bed. ”I found all those awaiting me when I came here to-day. In the dressing-case yonder there are laces, jewels, and fine raiment of every description, but I would go in rags before I would make use of a single article. I loathe the sight of them,” she added, shuddering. ”I should feel degraded, indeed, could I experience one moment of pleasure arrayed in them.”
Suddenly she started, and looked at her watch, a wild hope animating her.
It was exactly quarter past two.
A train left for New York, via the Boston & Albany Railroad, at three o'clock.
If she could reach the Columbus avenue station, which was less than fifteen minutes' walk from Commonwealth avenue, without being missed, she would be in New York by nine o'clock, and safe, for a time at least, from the man she both hated and feared.
CHAPTER XXIII.
A SURPRISE AT THE GRAND CENTRAL STATION.
”Will you help me?” Edith eagerly inquired, turning to her companion, who had regarded her wonderingly while she repudiated the costly gifts which Emil Correlli had showered upon her.
”How can I help you, lady?” Giulia inquired, with a look of surprise.
”Call me Edith--I am only a poor, friendless girl, like yourself,” she gently returned. ”But I want to go away from this house immediately--I must get out of it un.o.bserved; then I can catch a train that leaves Boston at three o'clock, for New York.”
”Ah! you wish to run away from Emil!” exclaimed Giulia, her face lighting with eagerness.
”Yes--I would never own myself his wife for a single hour. I was planning, when you came in, to get away to-night when the house was quiet; but doubtless they would lock my door if I continued to be obstinate, and it would be a great deal better for me, every way, if I could go now,” Edith explained.