“She died yesterday afternoon; an accident had occurred the night before, and she overturned a lamp and was terribly burned. I was with her when she died; I saw her die.”
“Good God! I can not believe it!” exclaimed Temple.
“It is nevertheless true—and I, knowing of her marriage to you—knowing also of your other marriage—”
“What have you got to say to me, sir?” interrupted Temple, quickly. “I am denying nothing; but what have you got to say?”
“This,” answered Webster, with quiet dignity. “When I heard of your first marriage I knew that you had also contracted a second marriage, and that—the young lady was living under my aunts’ roof.”
“Well?” said Temple, sharply.
“But I could not—I did not feel that I was called upon to tell this—to destroy her happiness.”
Unconsciously Webster’s voice faltered as he uttered the last few words, and Temple looked at him with eager anxiety.
“But you yourself told the secret,” went on Webster, recovering himself; “you told this young girl what well-nigh broke her heart—that she was no wife—that she was—”