"I have come to her!" panted the girl. "Oh, Mrs. Stanley!—--" but she stopped perforce, for Margaret's open-eyed bewilderment showed that the words were lost upon her.
"You have come?" she said. "Come where—to whom?"
"I have come here, to you!" exclaimed the girl, stretching out her hands. "Oh, dear lady, you are beautiful, ten times more beautiful than I am; but you look good and kind. Have mercy on me, and give me back my husband!"
Margaret shrank back, paling a little, but once again convinced that she was in the presence of a mad woman.
Yes, that was the key to the whole scene. The woman was one of those monomaniacs who are possessed by the shadow of an imagined wrong, and had pitched upon her as the person who had injured her! She looked toward the door and half rose, but before she could rise from her chair, the girl threw herself on her knees before her, and caught at her dress.
"You do not believe me! You would spurn me! Oh, my dear lady, in Heaven's name, listen to me! Do not turn from me! Think of my great wrong, my broken heart. You think you love him, but remember me! I am his wife—his wife; while you—ah, you have no claim on him! Besides, he has wronged you as cruelly almost as he has wronged me! Do not hesitate, dear, dear lady; have pity on me, and let him come back to me!" she cried, sobbing now bitterly.
Margaret tried to jerk her dress from the clinging hands, but they held too tightly.
"You—you are mad!" she got out at last, in a horrified voice, which she tried to keep steady. "I do not know you—I never saw you before! I know nothing of your husband! It's a mistake, all a mistake. Let me go, please, or I shall call some one——"
"No, no! Listen to me! Be patient with me!" pleaded the girl. "You do not know me, but I know you, though I only saw you and him together once. It was up the river. Oh, I should never, never forget you. Oh, be good to me! Let him come back to me! I am his wife—his wife! You will not, you cannot divide husband and wife!"