“She knew that I had been mixed up in some way in separating her from her scoundrel of a husband, and this gave her the notion that I was keeping them apart. I could not make her realize any part of the past that would hinder her from dwelling on this one idea. All her other delusions changed; but that was a steady, fixed conviction that all the reasoning in the world would not alter. Her last words were: ‘I am going to my husband, now, in spite of you all.’ And it was strange, Gwen; but Captain Lowe died the very day before she did, so that, perhaps, who can tell? they did meet again in another world.”
Lady Gwendolyn’s face was very sad now as she leaned against her husband’s shoulder.
“Poor Mary! what a miserable fate; and she looked so young still.”
“Four-and-twenty. I will show you her grave when we go to Borton.”
“Don’t tell me, if you would rather not, Lawrence, but I should like to know why you kept this such a profound secret?”
“Because people believed her to be dead, and it seemed to me better so. Captain Lowe would have claimed her directly, if he fancied there was anything to be gained by it. As it was, he often tried to exact money from me.”
“Yes; but you might have confided in me,” she said half reproachfully.
“I was so afraid that my love for you would make me disloyal to poor Mary, and then, if a mere inkling of the truth had come out, Captain Lowe would have left me no peace of my life.”
“But after we were married you knew I could be trusted, Lawrence.”
“If you had questioned me then, I should have told you all; but as you did not do so, I was glad to leave well alone.”