"Well, then, what will you do, Gerald G.o.ddard, in view of the fact, as you believe, that she is alive and has learned the truth?" she imperiously demanded.

"I--I do not think it will be wise for us to discuss that point just at present," he faltered.

"Coward! Is that your answer to me after twenty years of adoration and devotion?" cried the enraged woman, springing excitedly to her feet, the look of a slumbering demon in her dusky eyes.

"After twenty years of jealousy, bickering, and turmoil, you should have said, Anna," was the bitter response.

"Beware! Beware, Gerald! I have hot blood in my veins, as you very well know," was the menacing retort.

"I have long had a proof of that," he returned, with quiet irony.

"Oh!" she cried, putting up her hand as if to ward off a blow, "you are cruel to me." Then, with sudden pa.s.sion, she added: "Perhaps, after all, that doc.u.ment is in your possession--or at least that you know something about it."

"I only wish your surmise were correct, Anna; for, in that case, I should have no cause to fear her," said Mr. G.o.ddard, gravely.

"Ha! Even you do 'fear' her?" cried madam, eagerly. "In what way?"

"Can you not see? If she has gained possession of the paper, she has it in her power to do both of us irreparable harm," the gentleman explained.

Anna G.o.ddard shivered.

"Yes, yes," she moaned, "she could make society ring with our names--she could ruin us, socially; but"--shooting a stealthy glance at her companion, who sat with bowed head and clouded brow--"I could better bear that than that she should a.s.sert a claim upon you--that she should use her power to--to separate us. She shall not, Gerald!"

she went on, pa.s.sionately; "there are other countries where you and I can go and be happy, utterly indifferent to what she may do here."

The man made no reply to these words--he was apparently absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Gerald! have you nothing to say to me?" madam sharply cried, after watching him for a full minute.

"What can I say, Anna? There is nothing that either of us can do but await further developments," the man returned, but careful to keep to himself the fact that he had an appointment with the woman whom she so feared and hated.

"Would you dare to be false to me, after all these years?" his companion demanded, in repressed tones, and leaning toward him with flaming eyes.

"Pshaw, Anna! what a senseless question," he replied, with a forced laugh.

"But you admire--you think her very beautiful?" she questioned, eagerly.

"Why, that is a self-evident fact--every one must admit that she is a fine-looking woman," was the somewhat evasive response.

Anna G.o.ddard sprang to her feet, her face scarlet.

"You will be very careful what you do, Gerald," she hissed. "I have never had overmuch confidence in you, in spite of my love for you; but there is one thing that I will not bear, at this late day, and that is, that you should turn traitor to me; so be warned in time."

She did not wait to see what effect her words would have upon him, but, turning abruptly, swept from the room, leaving him to his own reflections.

CHAPTER XVIII.

"I SHALL NEVER FORGIVE EITHER OF YOU FOR YOUR SIN AGAINST ME."

The morning following the great G.o.ddard ball at Wyoming, found Edith much better, greatly to the surprise of every one.

She was quite weak, as was but natural after such a shock to her system, both physically and mentally; but she had slept very quietly through the night, after the housekeeper had gone to her and thrown the protection of her presence around her.

At Emil Correlli's request, the physician had remained in the house all night, in case he should be wanted; and when he visited her quite early in the morning, he expressed himself very much gratified to find her so comfortable, and said she would do well enough without any further medical treatment, but advised her to keep quiet for a day or two.

This Edith appeared perfectly willing to do, and lay contentedly among her pillows, watching her kind nurse while she put the room in order, making no remarks, asking no questions, but with a look of grave resolve growing in her eyes and about her sweet mouth, which betrayed that she was doing a good deal of thinking upon some subject.

Mrs. G.o.ddard came to her door immediately after breakfast, but Edith refused to see her.

She had told Mrs. Weld not to admit any one; therefore, when the lady of the house sought admittance, the housekeeper firmly but respectfully denied her entrance.

"But I have something very important to say to Edith," madam persisted.

"Then it had best be left unsaid until the poor girl is stronger,"

Mrs. Weld replied, without moving her portly proportions and holding the door firmly in her hand.

"I have a message from my brother for her--it is necessary that I should deliver it," Mrs. G.o.ddard obstinately returned. Mrs. Weld looked back into the room inquiringly.

"I do not wish to see any one," Edith weakly responded, but in a voice of decision which told the listener outside that the girl had no intention of yielding the point.

"Very well; then I will wait until she feels stronger," said the baffled woman, whereupon she beat an ignominious retreat, and the invalid was left in peace.

Mrs. Weld spent as much time as possible with her, but she of course had her duties below to attend to; so, at Edith's request, she locked her in and took the key with her when she was obliged to go downstairs.

Once, while she was absent, some one crept stealthily to the door and knocked.

Edith started up, and leaned upon her elbow, a momentary look of fear sweeping her face; but she made no response.

The knock was repeated.

Still the girl remained motionless and voiceless, only her great blue eyes began to blaze with mingled indignation and contempt, for she knew, instinctively, who was seeking admission.

"Miss Al--Edith, I must speak with you--I must have an interview with you," said the voice of Emil Correlli from without.

Still no answer from within; but the dazzling gleam in the girl's eyes plainly showed that that voice had aroused all the spirit within her in spite of her weak condition.

"Pray grant me an interview, Edith--I have much to say to you--much to explain--much to entreat of you," continued the voice, with a note of earnest appeal.

But he might as well have addressed the walls for all the effect he produced.

There was a moment or two of silence, then the man continued, with something of authority:

"I have the right to come to you, Edith--I have a right to demand that you regard my wishes. If you are not prepared to receive me just now, name some time when I can see you, and I will wait patiently your pleasure; only speak and tell me that you will comply with my request."

It was both a pretty and a striking picture behind that closed door, if he could but have seen it--the fair girl, in her snowy robe, over which she had slipped a pretty light blue sack, reclining upon her elbow, her beautiful hair falling in graceful confusion about her shoulders; her violet eyes gleaming with a look of triumph in her advantage over the man without; her lips--into which the color was beginning to flow naturally again--parted just enough to reveal the milk-white teeth between them.