Part 64 (1/2)
To-night the freshness of youth came back, and the cold, politic, non-committal lawyer found himself for the first time an ardent trembling lover.
He watched the faint quiver of her blue-veined lids, and heard the shuddering sigh that a.s.sured him consciousness was returning. Softly stroking her hand, he saw the eyes at last unclose.
”You certainly have been down among your uncanny Undine caves; for you quite resemble a drenched lily. Now sit up.”
He lifted her back into the easy chair, as if she had been an infant, and stood before her.
As her mind cleared, she recalled what had pa.s.sed, and said almost in a whisper:
”Did I dream, or did you tell me that horrible man is not my father?”
”I told you so. He is a black-hearted, vindictive miscreant, who successfully blackmailed you, by practising a vile imposture.”
”Oh! are you quite sure?”
”Perfectly sure. I have been hunting him for years, and at last have obtained in black and white his own confession, which n.o.bly exonerates your mother from his infamous aspirations.”
”Thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!”
Tears were stealing down her cheeks, and he saw from the twitching of her face that she was fast losing control of her overtaxed nerves.
”You must go to your room and rest, or you will be ill.”
”Oh! not if I am sure he will never dare to claim me as his child.
Oh, Mr. Palma! that possibility has almost driven me wild.”
”Dismiss it as you would some hideous nightmare. Go to sleep and dream of your mother, and of----”
He bit his lip to check the rash words, and too much agitated to observe his changed manner, she asked:
”Where is he now?”
”No matter where. He is so completely in my power, that he can trouble us no more.”
She clasped her hands joyfully, but the tears fell faster, and looking at her mother's picture, she exclaimed:
”Have mercy upon me, Mr. Palma! Tell me--do you know--whom I am? Do you really know beyond doubt who was--or is--my father?”
”This much I can tell you, I know your father's name; but just now I am forbidden by your mother to disclose it, even to you. Come to your room.”
He raised her from the chair, and as she stood before him, it was pitiable to witness the agonized entreaty in her pallid but beautiful face.
”Please tell me only one thing, and I can bear all else patiently.
Was he--was my father--a gentleman? Oh! my mother could never have loved any--but a gentleman.”
”His treatment of her and of you would scarcely ent.i.tle him to that honourable epithet; yet in the eyes of the world your father a.s.suredly is in every respect a gentleman, is considered even an aristocrat.”