She was not mistaken; it was in Norman’s handwriting. There were only a few lines, but as she read them her heart beat so fast as almost to prevent her breathing.
“I can not stay here now that there is no hope for me. It was too much to hope that you would love me; but I must go on loving you till I die.
Norman.”
The lines danced before her eyes. She looked at them as if she could not believe the reality of their existence—as a man might look who had unexpectedly come upon a rare gem; or as a woman might look who had suddenly found ready to her hand a weapon with which she could strike a hated foe to the very heart.
As she carefully placed the soiled and creased letter in her bosom—it seemed to strike warm, as if it had life—she saw opening before her a triumph which dazzled her and almost made her afraid. With this letter she could thrust the girl she hated not only from her lofty position but from Trafford’s side. It only needed skill and a heart hard enough to laugh at scruples; and her heart was adamant, and her love for Trafford rendered her incapable of a conscience.
The guests were arriving when Esmeralda went down to the great drawing-room. They were all eagerly awaiting her appearance. They expected to see her beauty enhanced by splendid apparel and the glitter of the Belfayre diamonds, and her appearance in the white muslin frock with the simple golden heart at her bosom was positively startling. She looked like a girl who had just run out of the school-room, and they held their breath as she crossed the room to greet them. She was no paler than usual, but there was a strange, fixed look in her eyes which some of them noticed, and afterward remembered. The women regarded the simple dress as a piece of “theater.” Trafford alone, as he stood beside her, with compressed lips and drawn brows, partly understood. She wished to remind him of her contempt for her money in the most effectual way.
But even as the thought stabbed him, he thrilled at her beauty; for the white muslin dress but heightened the effect of the wonderful hair and the glorious eyes with that strange expression in them.
She was quite self-possessed, and talked with one and another, and smiled and laughed in her usual frank way; and when the duke peered at her curiously, she, unseen by any other but himself, dropped him a swift, bewitching little courtesy.
“This is what I wear to-night, duke,” she said in a low voice.