Lady Darrell drew back, trembling with strange, vague fear.
"Oh, Pauline, Pauline, what have you done?"
Pauline threw aside her traveling cloak and took off her hat; and then she came to Lady Darrell.
"Let me tell you my story, kneeling here," she said; and she knelt down before Lady Darrell, looking as she spoke straight into her face. "Let me tell you before I begin it," she added, "that I have no excuse to offer for myself—none. I can only thank Heaven that I have seen my fault before—for your sake—it is too late."
Slowly, gravely, sometimes with bitter tears and with sobs that came from the depths of her heart, Pauline told her story—how the captain had loved her, how ill he had taken her repulse, how she had discovered his vile worthlessness, but for the sake of her revenge had said nothing.
Lady Darrell listened as to her death-knell.
"Is this true, Pauline?" she cried. "You vowed vengeance against me—is this your vengeance, to try to part me from the man I love, and to take from me the only chance of happiness that my wretched life holds?"
Her fair face had grown deadly pale; all the light and the happiness had fled from it; the pearls lay unheeded, the blue eyes grew dim with tears.
"Is it possible, Pauline?" she cried again. "Have I given my love to one dishonored? I cannot believe it—I will not believe it! It is part of your vengeance against me. What have I done that you should hate me so?"
The dark eyes and the beautiful face were raised to hers.