"But that which you have confessed becomes important in another sense. If the law gives me your property, it also enables me to divest it of the only incumbrance that would be unpleasant. Your confession, madam, entitles me to a divorce."
"You would not—oh, Heavens, no!" gasped the wretched woman.
"Now you seem natural—now you are meek again," he said with a laugh that cut to the heart. "So, you thought to dazzle me with your wealth—wither me with haughty pride—fool! miserable fool!"
"Mercy, mercy! Will no one save me from this man?" shrieked the wretched woman, flinging her clasped hands wildly upward.
Leicester was about to speak again, something fearfully bitter—you could see it in the curve of his lip—but her cry had reached other ears, and while the taunt was yet unspoken, Jacob Strong entered the boudoir. Leicester gazed upon him in utter amazement, for he advanced directly toward Ada, and taking the clasped hands she held out in both his, led her to the couch, trembling, and so faint that she was incapable of uttering a word.
"What is this? how came you here, fellow?" said Leicester, the moment he could break from the astonishment occasioned by Jacob's presence.
"My mistress called for help, and I came," was the steady answer.
"Your mistress! where—who?"
"This lady—your first wife! the other——"
"Villain! who are you?"