“What a fiend I must be could I injure you! The poor heart we have both overrated shall be yours again, and yours for ever. In my hands it is painted glass; in the luster of a love like yours it may become a priceless jewel.” She turned her head away and pondered a moment, then suddenly offered to Mrs. Vane her hand with nobleness and majesty; “Can you trust me?” The actress too was divinely beautiful now, for her good angel shone through her.
“I could trust you with my life!” was the reply.
“Ah! if I might call you friend, dear lady, what would I not
do—suffer—resign—to be worthy that title!”
“No, not friend!” cried the warm, innocent Mabel; “sister! I will call
you sister. I have no sister.”
“Sister!” said Mrs. Woffington. “Oh, do not mock me! Alas! you do not
know what you say. That sacred name to me, from lips so pure as yours.
Mrs. Vane,” said she, timidly, “would you think me presumptuous if I
begged you to—to let me kiss you?”
The words were scarce spoken before Mrs. Vane's arms were wreathed round
her neck, and that innocent cheek laid sweetly to hers.
Mrs. Woffington strained her to her bosom, and two great hearts, whose grandeur the world, worshiper of charlatans, never discovered, had found each other out and beat against each other. A great heart is as quick to find another out as the world is slow.
Mrs. Woffington burst into a passion of tears and clasped Mabel tighter and tighter in a half-despairing way. Mabel mistook the cause, but she kissed her tears away.
“Dear sister,” said she, “be comforted. I love you. My heart warmed to you the first moment I saw you. A woman's love and gratitude are something. Ah! you will never find me change. This is for life, look you.”
“God grant it!” cried the other poor woman. “Oh, it is not that, it is not that; it is because I am so little worthy of this. It is a sin to deceive you. I am not good like you. You do not know me!”
“You do not know yourself if you say so!” cried Mabel; and to her hearer the words seemed to come from heaven. “I read faces,” said Mabel. “I read yours at sight, and you are what I set you down; and nobody must breathe a word against you, not even yourself. Do you think I am blind? You are beautiful, you are good, you are my sister, and I love you!”
“Heaven forgive me!” thought the other. “How can I resign this angel's good opinion? Surely Heaven sends this blessed dew to my parched heart!” And now she burned to make good her promise and earn this virtuous wife's love. She folded her once more in her arms, and then, taking her by the hand, led her tenderly into Triplet's inner room. She made her lie down on the bed, and placed pillows high for her like a mother, and leaned over her as she lay, and pressed her lips gently to her forehead. Her fertile brain had already digested a plan, but she had resolved that this pure and candid soul should take no lessons of deceit. “Lie there,” said she, “till I open the door: then join us. Do you know what I am going to do? I am not going to restore you your husband's heart, but to show you it never really left you. You read faces; well, I read circumstances. Matters are not as you thought,” said she, with all a woman's tact. “I cannot explain, but you will see.” She then gave Mrs. Triplet peremptory orders not to let her charge rise from the bed until the preconcerted signal.