"And when you do so, Georgie, you will have the satisfaction of seeing the last of your cousin. When I told you that I would fling myself into the lake if you betrayed me, it was not the mere idle vapouring of a foolish girl. I said it, and I meant it. Do you think for one single instant that your husband would keep my secret? The scandal has blown over, Georgie; you and I are its sole depositories. My secret and my sin are both dead, buried for ever in the silent past. You swore you would never betray me, Georgie, and having sworn it you must keep your oath. Don't think for an instant that any ambition on my part, Georgie, makes me wish to see Lucius supplant your children. Oh that he were only dead, then at all events I should be safe."
Gradually, however, the girl became calmer, her manner to Georgie got softer and more caressing. "Keep my secret, Georgie dear," she said; "it'll be another twenty years before your children are men and women. I may be dead before that, please God I shall. Anyhow there'll be quite time enough to take your husband into our confidence, if it must be so. But I couldn't face him yet, and I couldn't face uncle. I must hold you to your promise, Georgie. You swore never to betray me, and you never shall."
Reginald Haggard's wife pleaded with the girl; she argued, she entreated, but she never threatened.
"It may come out after all, Lucy," she said, "and then think of the shame, the disgrace and the scandal."
"The only way in which it could come out, dear, would be if Capt knew something about it. He evidently has no suspicion, or he would have come to us for hush-money long ago. Besides, Georgie, there's hope left to me yet," and here the girl's face grew almost diabolical as she hissed across the table in a low whisper, "Lucius is but a little child, dear; he may die!"
"I can't believe, Lucy, that the worst of mothers could deliberately wish for her own child's death. You took a base advantage of my affection in entrapping me into a promise of secrecy."
"An oath, my dear."
"An oath or a promise, whichever you like, Lucy. I'll keep your secret, you may rely on that, whatever it may cost me. But I love the child (and you know you can trust me, Lucy Warrender), so be you sure of this. You dared to wish for the child's death. Should any danger menace him from you—you his own mother, worthless woman that you are—that instant your secret shall be a secret no longer. I will sacrifice my own happiness, the future of my own children, to you; for your sake I have deceived my husband, and I will go on deceiving him, but I will protect the child's life from you, Lucy Warrender, at whatever cost. Your very presence is a danger to him. After what you've told me, it is impossible that you and he can live under the same roof. You hate him, your own unhappy friendless child. I banish you from his presence, Lucy, from this day forth."
Lucy Warrender gazed at her cousin in astonishment; their rôles were changed; no longer young Mrs. Haggard looked at her cousin with patient pleading eyes; her foot beat the floor with suppressed excitement, and though she never raised her voice, she continued in an angry but determined tone:
"Yes, Lucy, you must go, and quickly; you shall no longer poison my home with your presence. You have brought sufficient misery to me and mine."