Volume Ii Part 10 (1/2)

”Margaret has no Mrs. Grundies,” said I, rather indignantly. ”She will not admit such vulgar, common-place wretches into her society. To the pure in heart all things are pure.”

”Well done! young champion of dames. You will not suffer Margaretta to be blamed without taking her part, I see.”

”Particularly, sir, when I know and feel that she is in the right.”

”She and I must have a serious talk on this subject to-morrow, however. In the meantime, Geoffrey, bring here the chess-board, and let us get through a dull evening in the best way we can.”

CHAPTER V.

A DISCOVERY.

The next morning I received from Margaretta, a circ.u.mstantial detail of what had pa.s.sed between Alice and her on the previous evening.

”After I undressed and got her to bed, she fell into a deep sleep, which lasted until midnight. I was reading by the table, not feeling at all inclined to rest. Hearing her moving, I went to her, and sat down on the bed, and asked how she felt herself.

”'Better in mind, Miss Moncton, but far from well. My head aches badly, and I have a dull pain in my chest.'

”'You have taken cold, Alice. I must send for the doctor.'

”'Oh! no, no. He could do me no good; mine is a malady of the heart.

If my mind were at ease, I should be quite well. I do not wish to get well. The sooner I die the better.'

”'Alice, you must not talk so. It is very sinful.'

”'You are right--I am a great sinner. I know it only too well. But I cannot repent. All is dark here,' and she laid her hand upon her head.

'I cannot see my way through this thick darkness--this darkness which can be felt. You know, Miss Moncton, what the Bible says ”The light of the wicked shall be put out in obscure darkness.” My light of life has been extinguished, and the night of eternal darkness has closed over me.'

”'We must pray to G.o.d, Alice, to enlighten this awful darkness.'

”'Pray!--I cannot pray. I am too hard--too proud to pray. G.o.d has forsaken and left me to myself. If I could discern one ray of light--one faint glimmer only, I might cherish hope.'

”There was something so truly melancholy, in this description of the state of her mind, Geoffrey, that I could not listen to her with dry eyes.

”Alice, for her part, shed no tears, but regarded my emotions with a look of mingled pity and surprise, while the latent insanity, under which I am sure she is labouring, kindled a glow on her death-pale face. Rising slowly in the bed, she grasped my arm--

”'Why do you weep?' said she. 'Do you dare to think me guilty of that nameless crime? Margaretta Moncton, you should know me better. Don't you remember the ballad we once learned to repeat, when we were girls together?--

”'Not mine to scowl a guilty eye, Or bear the brand of shame; Oh, G.o.d! to brook the taunting look Of Fillan's wedded dame.

”'But the lady bore the brand in spite of all her boasting. But I do not. I am a wife--_His_ lawful wedded wife, and my boy was no child of shame, and he dare not deny it. And yet,' she continued, falling back upon her pillow, and clutching the bed-clothes in her convulsive grasp, '_he_ spurned me from him--_me_, his wife--the mother of his child. Yes, Miss Moncton, spurned me from his presence, with hard words and bitter taunts. I could have borne the loss of his love, for I have long ceased to respect him. But this--this has maddened me.'

”I was perfectly astonished at this unexpected disclosure. Seeing doubt expressed in my face, she grew angry and vehement.

”'It is true. Why do you doubt my word? I scorn to utter a falsehood.

When, Miss Moncton, did I ever during our long friends.h.i.+p deceive you?'

”'Never, Alice. But your story seemed improvable. Like you, I am in the habit of speaking fearlessly my mind.'