“And yet—and yet——”
“And yet we parted—yes, as ships at sea that meet and strike in the fog and fly asunder—wrecks doomed to go down to destruction! So we married, and so we severed.”
“Was it right?”
“It was right.”
“Oh, mother, what made it right? What could make it right that you and my father, who loved each other so devotedly, who were so worthy of each other, too, and whose marriage was so happy in itself, and so highly approved by all, should separate so suddenly—so utterly and everlastingly.”
The lady did not reply, but turned away her face to avoid the searching eyes of her daughter.
“Oh, Heaven!” cried Alma, “there could have been but one reason—some previous engagement, or bond, or, or——”
She could not bring herself to utter the other word, but dropped her face in her hands, while her bosom rose and fell with those convulsive, tearless sobs that seem to “press the life from out young hearts.”
“I know what you would say, Alma; but you are mistaken, poor, unhappy girl! There was no previous engagement, bond or love, far less marriage, either on Hollis Elverton’s side or mine, with any third person whose existence could invalidate our marriage. Hollis Elverton was a bachelor and I a girl when we married, nor had either of us ever loved until we met and loved each other. No, Alma, it was no previous marriage that burst ours asunder,” said the lady, as some memory of unusually exquisite pain convulsed her statue-like form.
“Then, in the name of heaven, earth and hades, what was it?” exclaimed Alma, with starting vehemence.