"We met in Paris, we met again in many of the Italian towns, and he and I corresponded. I was very young; I knew nothing whatever of the world; it seemed to me strange that with all his professions of devotion he never mentioned marriage; but I believed his mode of living was precarious and that as soon as something settled should be offered him he would ask me to pledge myself. This was Laura's view, too, for my little darling was older than her years, and she and I discussed the matter frequently. But at last we—or I should say I—found out what he was. Laura would scarcely believe anything against her bon père, but I knew that of him which I could not tell her. He and I parted, and were to one another as if we never had been even so much as friends. I suffered, for though I believe now that my imagination rather than my heart had been touched, still he had formed so large a part of my life that the parting could not but be painful for the time. I should have told you that all this had filled about two years; we had been twice in England, and twice again on the Continent, before I could make up my mind to break finally with my lover.
"It was in the course of the winter following my second visit, when my heart was still aching with the kind of loneliness which the withdrawal from my life of the one who had made all its romance for so many months could not but cause, that I met my husband, Maurice Grey. There could not have been a greater contrast. He had the fire of the Frenchman, but he lacked his dissimulation. He was in those days—God only knows how this trial may have changed him!—a true gentleman, frank, manly, courageous, but with none of the delicate finish, the courtly ease, the wily fascination of L'Estrange. I soon saw he loved me—so deeply that my refusal to become his wife would cause him the intensest pain—And when he made me an offer I accepted him at first only because I was sorry for him and tired of my solitary position; but I came to love him, and with a far deeper, truer love than the former had been, for that had a certain sense of dissatisfaction about it. I never thoroughly understood M. L'Estrange; Maurice I honored as well as loved, and with my whole heart. Ah!"—she covered her face with her hands and moaned—"if he could only have known! But to return: I told him the whole story of my former love. It did not affect his feelings toward me. We were married, and two, three years passed by happily. I don't say we had never little breaks. I suppose in every married life these occur; and Maurice had one fault: he loved me too much—he was inclined to be jealous of my affection. I think, when I look back over that time, that the old story rankled in his mind; he could not quite shake off the idea that my duty was his, my love still another's. There came a time when our little child took ill. It was scarlet fever, and after it was over the doctors recommended sea-air. This was in the height of the London season, and my husband could not leave town. He took lodgings for us in Ramsgate, and came to see us whenever it was possible.
"Now comes the strange part of my story. Up to that time I had neither seen Monsieur L'Estrange nor heard of him since my marriage.
"Of course I thought of him sometimes, and my poor Laura before she died spoke of him often with lingering affection. At times I had a kind of morbid curiosity about him. I felt as if I should like to meet him, only to know whether I was perfectly cured—whether in my mature age he could exercise the same strange fascination over me as in my girlhood. This idea I never ventured to mention to Maurice. Would to God I had! I was walking one day on the Ramsgate pier when suddenly I saw him. My little girl and her nurse were with me. He recognized me instantly, looked at me in his curious way and lifted his hat politely. This chance meeting made a tumult in my brain, but I tried to treat it as a matter of very small importance. On the next day Maurice was to arrive, and here was my first false step. I said nothing to him of the meeting. I noticed him once or twice look at me strangely, as if trying to read my heart; but he said nothing and I said nothing. He went away, and on that very morning arrived a letter in the small, well-known handwriting. I knew it was from him, and yet, and yet—God forgive me!—I opened and read it. It was a simple matter, after all, claiming common acquaintanceship, asking permission to call on me. He was waiting at the hotel; if I chose to forbid him he would go no further; if he received no answer he would be with me in the course of the afternoon. I persuaded myself that this meant nothing; we should meet once more—meet as strangers. I should have the opportunity of proving to myself how foolish my girlish weakness had been. And to forbid his coming, what would it be but a tacit acknowledgment that he still possessed a certain power over my heart? I decided to allow him to come, and through the afternoon I sat indoors, waiting with (I will always maintain) no stronger feeling than curiosity in my mind. It was nearly evening before he arrived. I was in some trepidation, but he behaved perfectly; his manner was easy and natural; he seemed to forget there had been anything but simple friendship between us. We chatted pleasantly for about half an hour, and then he rose to take his leave. The room was in half darkness; I had sent my little one to bed. I put out my hand carelessly, as I would have done to any ordinary stranger, but a sudden change seemed to have come over him. To this day I have never been able to account for it. He who had been so calm only a few moments before was trembling with excitement. He seized my offered hand, and before I knew where I was he was kneeling at my feet, pouring out words that he had no right to speak nor I to hear. Before I could thrust him away, before I could give voice to my indignation—ah! shall I ever, ever forget that moment?—the door opened slowly, and I saw my husband's face as I had never seen it before—dark, threatening, suspicious. It all passed in a moment. I was conscious of sinking down in a chair, and covering my face with my hands to hide my burning shame, for my husband suspected me. I heard high words, and when I looked up again Maurice and I were alone.
"'That man has escaped with his life,' he said sternly; 'he has you to thank for it.' I tried to explain, but he stopped me harshly. It was a stormy night. The wind was blowing about the house in fierce gusts. Oh how every detail of that terrible time clings about my brain!
"My husband left me in the room alone. I sat there for it might be an hour, as darkness had come before he returned. When he came in a carpet-bag was in his hand; he was evidently dressed for travelling. I sprang to my feet. I threw my arms around him; I implored him to stay and listen to me, but he only answered with that dark suspicious look. He loosened my hold at last—he reached the door; as he opened it there swept a great blast of wind into the room. I shall always feel thankful for that, for he saw me shivering as I lay exhausted on the sofa, and he came back suddenly to cover me from head to foot in his travelling-rug; then he kissed me—my poor Maurice!—and I saw something like relenting in his sad eyes, but I was too weak to tell him all: the soft moment passed, and I have never seen him since."
Margaret's voice sank into a wail. Her story had carried her away, so much so that she had almost forgotten her companion, and when Arthur, who had been listening intently, sprang suddenly to his feet, she was almost startled.
"It is as we thought," he cried impetuously—"my cousin's very words; she said it was some dreadful misunderstanding. But it shall be set right. Mrs. Grey, you have given me your confidence nobly and truly. It shall not be in vain. I have a kind of feeling that it will be given to me to disentangle this coil."
And then he knelt down before her on the sands. "Margaret," he said—and as he spoke the name with all a boy's timidity his young face flushed and his eyes seemed to burn with a steady, lustrous shining—"long ago, in the days of chivalry, ladies used to send out their knights wearing their colors to fight for them and for truth and for justice. Make me your knight, let me fight your battles. So help me God, I will stand by you as your own brother might do; I will seek through the world till I find your husband, I will never rest till I have righted you! Will you accept my service?"
She smiled, and bending forward kissed him on the brow.