Juliette Ives was walking along the mountain road just a few rods from the cottage, kicking up the dead leaves from the ground at every step, and frowning discontentedly.
“It is almost two months since I came to this place, and it is as dreary as a prison. I hope we shall certainly get away this week, or I shall die of ennui,” she was muttering angrily to herself, when suddenly she came face to face with a man who was hurrying in the direction of the cottage—Norman Wylde.
It was the first time he had seen Juliette since Finley’s sullen confession had convicted her of such a treacherous deed, and Norman’s brow grew dark at sight of the fair blond face, with its light-blue eyes, and pale golden tresses flying loosely in the wind under a picturesque little scarlet cap, for Juliette was always vain and coquettish, and even here in this secluded retreat, where she expected to see no one, paid particular attention to her personal appearance. But her charms were all unheeded by Norman Wylde, who lifted his hat with grave courtesy, and was about to pass by when she arrested him with a pleading cry:
“Norman—Mr. Wylde!”
He paused, but with an impatient gesture, and, coming close up to him, she said eagerly:
“I cannot let pass this opportunity of clearing myself from the foul imputation cast upon me by that wicked wretch, Finley. Oh, Norman, I swear to you that I had nothing to do with his sin! I did not even know the man.”
She never forgot how handsome and how scornful her lost lover looked as he fixed his splendid, piercing black eyes on her false face. Regarding her with supreme contempt, he answered:
“Unfortunately for your denial, Miss Ives, Finley had written proofs in his possession that proved your guilt clearly.”
“I deny it in spite of all his proofs,” she cried desperately, but, smiling scornfully still, he answered:
“As you please, Miss Ives; but permit me to pass. I am anxious to meet my wife!”
“You have no wife!” she exclaimed, with such spiteful yet earnest emphasis that he paused again, and said:
“Deny it as you will; but I have proved to the world’s satisfaction that Pansy Laurens is my wife, and a week ago, when Mr. Finley recovered from the long stupor and loss of memory that followed upon his fall, he told me my wife still lived, in the person of Mrs. Falconer. I wondered why she had not come at once to me on learning that she was truly my wife. But, guessing that it was owing to her sensitive, retiring nature, I set myself to work to learn her whereabouts. I learned that she had separated from Colonel Falconer, and was living here in strict retirement. I hurried here at once.”
“In spite of all that, I repeat my assertion: You have no wife!” answered Juliette, with savage emphasis and barbarous delight in the torture she was inflicting on his heart.
“My Heaven!” he cried, shuddering. “You do not mean to tell me that Pansy is dead!”
“No; it is worse than that.” She paused a moment, watching him keenly, the better to enjoy her triumph, then added: “She has procured a divorce from you.”
Then she shrank in spite of herself, for the rage and despair on that darkly handsome face frightened her, defiant as she was, and his voice seemed to breathe menace as he shouted hoarsely:
“It is false! False as your treacherous heart, Juliette Ives!” And, with the words, he rushed madly from her toward the cottage, wild to know the truth from Pansy’s own beautiful lips.
Juliette followed slowly after, with a white face of wrath and envy, for she well knew that, though Pansy was lost to Norman forever, he would never love another.
Phebe went up to her mistress with a message from Mr. Wylde, and, after a long interval, returned with a brief, ambiguous note:
I refuse to see you. I received my decree of divorce this morning, and to-morrow I shall be married to Colonel Falconer. Forgive me, Norman, for I have acted for the best as far as I could see my duty. Let our child comfort you. Love him, and make up to him for his mother’s loss. I go abroad in a few days, never to return. Forget me if you can, and if not, remember me with pity. Farewell forever, and may Heaven bless you!
PANSY.
Crushing the perfumed sheet in his hand, he staggered across the doorway with a face like a corpse. A white hand fluttered down on his coat sleeve, and tender blue eyes gazed into his agonized face.
“You see now!” said Juliette triumphantly. “She was like the majority of women. She cared more for Colonel Falconer’s money than for her husband’s love! Oh, Norman,” her voice sank into a low, pleading cadence, “will you not forget her now and make up our wretched quarrel? Remember, we loved each other before you ever saw her face!”
“I never loved you—never! And for the misery your sin has brought me I curse you!” he answered. “I have lost her, but it was through your treachery at the beginning that she was forced into a position where her noble nature made her sacrifice herself and me to a mistaken sense of duty. Ah, I understand her generous soul! Do not prate to me of gold. She cared nothing for that, but, in her pity for him, she has broken both her heart and mine.” And, throwing off her touch as though it were a serpent’s coil, he rushed away.