“I tell you, no! Never till this day did he breathe one word of love to me. I can show you his letters.”
“Letters! He wrote to you, then, and I never knew it. Oh! how I hate you! I could kill you where you stand!”
She went to the open desk, and began searching there with trembling hands.
“What—what are you going to do?” cried Olive, with sudden terror.
“To take his letters, and read them. I do it in your presence, for I am no dishonourable thief. But I will know everything. You are in my power—you need not stir or shriek.”
But Olive did shriek, for she saw that Christal's hand already touched the one fatal letter. A hope there was that she might pass it by, unconscious that it contained her doom! But no! her eye had been attracted by her own name, mentioned in the postscript.
“More wicked devices against me!” cried the girl, passionately. “But I will find out this plot too,” and she began to unfold the paper.
“The letter—give me that letter. Oh, Christal! for the happiness of your whole life, I charge you—I implore you not to read it!” cried Olive, springing forward, and catching her arm. But Christal thrust her back with violence. “'Tis something you wish to hide from me; but I defy you! I will read!”
Nevertheless, in the confusion of her mind, she could not at once find the passage where she had seen her own name. She began, and read the letter all through, though without a change of countenance until she reached the end. Then the change was so awful, none could be like it, save that left by death on the human face. Her arms fell paralysed, and she staggered dizzily against the wall.
Trembling, Olive crept up and touched her; Christal recoiled, and stamped on the ground, crying: