“She was dead and in her coffin.”
“But you saw her and took her away then?”
“I saw and recognized her; she was buried from my house, and with that funeral the shameful secret died.”
“Poor, poor girl; how Townsend did love her!” sobbed the widow. “It would have broken his heart.”
“So I thought,” said the mother, smoothing the folds of her dress with feelings of deep self-satisfaction; “it was far better to keep him in ignorance. But for your mention of that young reprobate, I should not have distressed you or myself by speaking of it.”
Mrs. Oakley shrunk back with a shudder as De Marke was thus alluded to, but gathering up courage, proceeded with the subject.
“But what proofs have you that he was to blame, mother?”
“It was conclusive. He it was that deluded her away from my protection, he told me so himself.”
“But,” said the widow, looking suddenly up, while a gleam of light kindled the tears that filled her eyes, “he may have been married to her!”
“Yes,” answered the mother sharply, “and he may have been to Catharine Lacy at the same time.”