She sat before the disfigured picture with her face bowed in her hands.
She thought he was gone, but still remained motionless like one doomed.
A few moments passed and she was startled by hearing his voice again.
It was no longer harsh and stern, but sad, grave, and pitiful. "Miss
Ludolph, may God forgive you."
She trembled. Pride and better feeling were contending for the mastery. After a few moments she sprang up and reached out her hands; but he was gone now in very truth.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE TWO PICTURES
When Christine saw that Dennis was not in the room, she rushed to a window only in time to see his retreating form passing down the street. For a moment she felt like one left alone to perish on a sinking wreck. His words, so assured in their tones, seemed like those of a prophet. Conscience echoed them, and a chill of fear came over her heart. What if he were right? What if she had let the one golden opportunity of her life pass? Even though she had stolen her inspiration from him through guile and cruelty, had he not enabled her to accomplish more than in all her life before? To what might he not have led her, if she had put her hand frankly and truthfully in his? There are times when to those most bewildered in mazes of error light breaks, clear and unmistakable, defining right and wrong with terrible distinctness. Such an hour was this to Christine. The law of God written on her heart asserted itself, and she trembled at the guilty thing she saw herself to be. But there seemed no remedy save in the one she had driven away, never to return, as she believed. After a brief but painful revery she exclaimed: "But what am I thinking of? What can he or any man of this land be to me?"
Then pride, her dominant trait, awoke as she recalled his words.
"He despises me, does he? I will teach him that I belong to a sphere he cannot touch—the poor infatuated youth! And did he dream that I, Christine Ludolph, could give him my hand? He shall learn some day that none in this land could receive that honor, and none save the proudest in my own may hope for it. The idea of my giving up my ancient and honorable name for the sake of this unknown Yankee youth."
Bold, proud words that her heart did not echo.
But pride and anger were now her controlling impulses, and with the strong grasp of her resolute will she crushed back her gentler and better feelings, and became more icy and hard than ever.