"Why should you give all that loving heart of yours to one woman, John?" he said. "If one fails, try another."
"If your Frances died, should you love another woman?" I asked.
"That is quite another thing," he said, and I saw in his heart he resented the fact that I should place the woman who had been faithless to me on an equality with his wife. Poor Lance!
CHAPTER VI.
As we drew near the house on our return, the first dinner-bell was ringing.
"We have twenty minutes yet," said Lance; "you will just have time to say a few words to Frances; she is sure to be in the drawing-room."
We went there. When the door was opened I saw a magnificent room—long, lofty and bright, so cheerful and light—with such beautiful furniture, and such superb hangings of white and gold. I was struck as I had never been by any room before. The long French windows, opening like glass doors, looked over a superb flower-garden, where flowers of every hue were now in blossom.
The room was full of sunlight; it faced the west, and the sun was setting. For a few moments my eyes were dazzled; then as the golden haze cleared, I saw a tall figure at the other end of the room, a beautiful figure, dressed in a long robe of blue, with a crown of golden brown hair; when she turned suddenly to us, I saw that she carried some sprays of white hawthorn in her hand. At first my attention was concentrated on the golden hair, the blue dress, the white flowers; then slowly, as though following some irresistible magnetic attraction, my eyes were raised to her face, and remained fixed there. I have wondered a thousand times since how it was that no cry escaped my lips—how it was that none of the cold, sick horror that filled my whole heart and soul did not find vent in words. How was it? To this moment I cannot tell. Great Heaven! what did I see? In this beloved and worshiped wife—in this fair and queenly woman—in this tender and charitable lady, who was so good to the fallen and miserable—in this woman, idolized by the man I loved best upon earth, I saw the murderess—the woman who had dropped the little bundle over the railing into the sea.
It was she as surely as heaven shone above us. I recognized the beautiful face, the light golden hair, the tall, graceful figure. The face was not white, set desperate now, but bright, with a soft, sweet radiance I have seen on the face of no other woman living. For an instant my whole heart was paralyzed with horror. I felt my blood grow cold and gather round my heart, leaving my face and hands cold. She came forward to greet me with the same graceful, undulating grace which had struck me before. For a moment I was back on the Chain Pier, with the wild waste of waters around me, and the rapid rush of the waves in my ear. Then a beautiful face was smiling into mine—a white hand, on which rich jewels shone, was held out to me, a voice sweeter than any music I had ever heard, said: