[figure description] Page 251.[end figure description]

AS Wilde disappeared, the baronet fixed
his eyes with avidity upon the paper in
his hand.

“The actual entry!” he muttered;
“Murdaugh Westbrooke to Marianne Earle,
Martigny, April 17—, signed by Father Ambrose;
all in due form! Decidedly, Wilde is a
cool hand, and has effected all I hoped for.
Now to action! But first to enjoy my little
treat!”

He went out quickly, and ascending the
broad staircase, took a key from his pocket and
opened a door. Before him, in a bare apartment,
sat the recluse, pale but calm.

“I have come to call on you, madam,” he
said, grinning.

[figure description] Page 252.[end figure description]

The recluse coldly inclined her head.

“I have an interesting communication to
make, madam.”

The recluse gazed at him intently, but made
no reply.

“Your ladyship is silent this evening, but
no matter. I will talk myself. And first, I
beg to call your ladyship's attention to the
fact that this is the record of our marriage in
the village of Martigny—brought for my
private perusal by our mutual acquaintance,
Mr. Wilde.”

The baronet watched her closely. At these
words she turned suddenly pale.

“Doubtless a copy, sir!” she said, coldly,
but with a sudden, eager glance.

The baronet burst out laughing. It was a
sombre and ghastly sound.

“A copy? By no means, madam. The original
paper! I was too intelligent to care for
a copy. I wished to feast my eyes upon the
sole and only evidence of our connubial
bliss! What cared I for a copy? What I
wanted was the actual sheet from the record,
signed by the priest: here it is; and from this
moment there is no proof whatever of our marriage.”

[figure description] Page 253.[end figure description]

The recluse was pale, but her calmness had
returned.

“So you are bent on destroying all proof
that I am Lady Westbrooke?”

The baronet bowed and said ironically,—

“Madam is intelligent.”

“You design marrying again?”

“I do, madam.”

“To commit bigamy?”

“There is no bigamy where proof does not
exist of a former marriage.”

The recluse made no reply. With her eyes
fixed intently upon the baronet, she seemed to
listen coldly.

“Why make so much ado, my dear madam,”
he said, with sombre grin. “Are we so much
devoted to each other that we cannot bear to
ignore that former union? Was it of hearts—
or hands only? I think it was merely the hand.
Well, I count that a sin. I design to unite myself
now to a young creature who loves me?”

No reply came from the recluse. The baronet
went on:—

“Shall I tell you of my little affair? The
fair one is called Ellinor Maverick. She is exceedingly
handsome—much more handsome,
I must say, than you ever were; and she marries

[figure description] Page 254.[end figure description]

me in defiance of the whole respectable Maverick
family.”

The recluse had never removed her eyes
from the face of the baronet.

“Does she know that you have one wife living?”
she said, calmly.

The words brought to the baronet's face the
eternal grin.

“I must confess she does not, madam!
She is a tender lamb led to the slaughter. I
am a monster, you perhaps think, and I confess
I am not a saint. But in this case the lamb is
tough! Miss Maverick weds me for my estate,
not from the sympathetic impulse of her maiden
heart! She calculates—she does not gush
out! I am Sir Ten Thousand a Year, rather
than Sir Murdaugh Westbrooke; and a few
little charges which have been brought against
me have had no influence on the sweet charmer—
she is still determined to marry me.”

“And you will ruin this young woman because
she is worldly and ambitious?”

“Ruin her, madam? not at all? How shall
I ruin her?”

The recluse pointed coldly toward the paper
in his hand.

“Still harping upon this!” the baronet said

[figure description] Page 255.[end figure description]

with a grin. “I will show you how I remove
that little difficulty in the simplest manner,
madam?”

He caught the paper with both hands, and
was about to tear it in pieces.

“Forbear!” cried the recluse, suddenly rising
and confronting him.

“Forbear what?” he growled.

“From the commission of the crime you
meditate!” his companion said, with flushed
cheeks. “It is your soul's salvation you imperil!
I do not speak of the offence against
law! Think, unhappy old man!—for you
are old now, as I am,—think, God has forbidden
this. You sin wilfully against his commandements!
Stop now, on the threshold!—
repent!—a poor sinner urges that! Abandon
this scheme!—remember that your lawful
wife still lives!—Give me the paper!”

And before he divined her intention, she
grasped the paper and tore it from him.

The baronet uttered an enraged cry and
said,—

“Beware!—give me back that writing!”

“It is mine equally—since it is the record
of my marriage!” she exclaimed, recoiling, and
thrusting the paper into her bosom.

[figure description] Page 256.[end figure description]

“Give me the writing!”

And he seized her by the wrist, with a
grasp of iron.

“Release me, sir!”

“Give me the paper!”

“I will not!”

He seized her by the throat.

“The paper—or you are dead!”

The hand grasped the white throat more
furiously.

“Kill me, then!—you may take it from my
dead body—I will never surrender it!”

He tore open her dress, and drew the paper
from its hiding-place.

“Coward!” she exclaimed, as he did so;
“wretch, to outrage me thus!—to lay the
hand of violence where you once laid your
head! Oh! I could tear the very flesh
which was so profaned once!—coward!”

And with flaming eyes she confronted him,—
eyes full of superb wrath.

“Insult, outrage, murder me if you will!”
she cried, in her rage and scorn. “There is
one person who is safe from you—your
child!—whom you aimed to murder! unnatural
and monstrous! Of what race do you

[figure description] Page 257.[end figure description]

come? You would slay your own child!—
but he at least is safe from you!”

The baronet had retreated a step as she confronted
him with blazing eyes. In spite of
himself, he shrunk before the scorn of his
companion. Now, however, his sneer returned—
the ghastly grin distorted his ugly mouth.

“Ah! you think that whelp is safe, do you,
madam? You are mistaken. Wilde stabbed
him to-night!”

“You lie—he is in France!”

“I do not lie, madam—he is in Pembrokeshire.”

The woman looked at him; as she did so
the flush died out of her cheeks.

“Where is he?”

“I will not tell you!”

She trembled.

“For pity's sake!”

And suddenly submissive she clasped her
hands.

“Do not harm him! He has not wronged
you! Why do you thus hate him?”

“Because he hates me, and will destroy me—
if I do not destroy him! Cease your prayers,
then—they are vain! His doom is sealed—
Wilde is now tracking him!”

[figure description] Page 258.[end figure description]

“That wretch? Oh, it is infamous! He
will murder him! Let me go and save him!”

The baronet thrust her back violently, and
went toward the door.

“It is too late! he is doomed!”

And he reached the door and opened it.

Suddenly the woman threw herself upon
him, and seizcd his throat with both hands.

“Give me my child!” she cried, with the
rage of a tigress robbed of her young.

His reply was to hurl her from him, and she
fell at full length on the floor. A moment
afterwards the baronet had passed through the
door and closed and locked it.

As the key turned in the lock, the door
shook under the grasp of the poor mother.

“My child! my child! Give me my child!”
she moaned, shaking the door.

A laugh replied; and the baronet's footsteps
receded. A moment afterwards a body fell
heavily in the apartment which he had left.

The recluse had fainted.

p517-264

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