“Her ladyship will not keep you waiting long, Sir Harold,” the maid said, quietly. She could not find it in her heart to forgive the man who had ruined her mistress’ life.
She withdrew, and in a state of great agitation he paced the floor. Why had he come? It was needless pain for both. It was unfair to his wife. He might have explained all to Lady Elaine by letter. It would have been much more simple—much easier.
At last there was the rustle of a woman’s dress, the door opened softly, and his lost love stood before him. How ethereal she looked. Had the vision appeared unexpectedly he would have believed that it was a visitant from the spirit world.
“Elaine!”
There was a great sob in his voice, and he held out his arms, but she did not respond.
“Sir Harold,” she replied, softly. “You must not forget the bar between us. You must not forget your wife! I was perhaps wrong to grant this interview, but I wish to look upon you for the last time—to hear your voice once more. My hero is not yet dethroned, and I desire to vindicate myself——”
“Stop!” he cried. “Oh, my God, this is too much for human hearts to bear! Elaine, come and sit beside me; let me place my arms about you—pillow your head upon my shoulder, while I tell you all that has happened to me since that day when you drove me forth! It may be the last time, Elaine; it may be the last time that we shall meet on earth, and I want to carry it through life and to the grave a pleasant memory. Do not forget what we have been to each other—what we are to each other still! When you know all you will not blame me, and then——”
He covered his eyes with his hands, and she was instantly beside him.
“If I am sinning, Heaven forgive me. Surely the sin will be expiated by the martyrdom that is mine!”
Bit by bit, he told his wonderful story—the story of his utter oblivion—the story of his awakening—of his brotherly love for the sweet girl whom he called wife—of his utter despair.