Clark followed the child’s finger with his eyes, and there, coming up the path rapidly, and with eager haste in her look and manner, he saw Zulima, the wife of his bosom, the mother of his child. For the world, that proud man could not have risen to his feet; his strength utterly forsook him; he attempted to remove Myra’s arm from his neck, but even that he failed to accomplish, so profound was his astonishment, so overpowering was his agitation.
A tree stood close by the fountain, overrun and shadowed by the convolutions of a passion-flower vine, that fell like a curtain around it, concealing the father and child as Zulima came up. Thus it happened that without any preparation, the wronged wife and the deceived husband stood face to face, breathless and pale as statues in a graveyard. The child clung to her father’s neck. Her large eyes dilated, and her face grew crimson with fear. She was frightened by the terrible pallor of Zulima’s face.
Mr. Clark arose pale as death; and trembling in every limb, he placed the child gently on the grass, and approaching Zulima held forth his hand.
She took it, but her fingers were like marble; and like marble was the cold smile that went in a spasm of pain across her lips.
“Zulima, will you not speak to me?”
Oh, what a flood of bitter waters did that gentle voice unlock in Zulima’s heart. Her limbs began to shake, her hands quivered like aspen leaves, and a look of unutterable distress fell upon her face.
“To what end should I speak?” she said, in a low and husky voice. “I have no wish to reproach you, and what but reproaches can you expect from me.”
A bitter smile disturbed the pallor of Daniel Clark’s face, and a bitter intonation was blended with the mournful cadence of his voice.
“Reproaches, Zulima, are for slight wrongs; but slight or deep, I deserve none at your hands. While you—oh, woman, woman, how have you betrayed the deep love, the honor which I gave you in holy trust. Neither will I reproach; but when I look upon your face, still young, full of beauty, and bearing the old look of innocence, it forces me to think of the vows you have broken, the mockery you have cast upon our marriage.”
“Our marriage,” repeated Zulima. Again her lips were distorted with a smile mournful and bitter, and clasping her hands she wrung them nervously together.