“Yes, I acknowledge that.”
“She said that in her position and in yours—both so recently bereaved—she could not possibly think of crossing the ocean in the same ship with you. And then, Tudor, she added an explanation that made my hair stand on end—so to speak.”
“Ah! what was that which could have straightened these pretty, rippling locks and made them stand erect ‘like quills upon the fretful porcupine?’” gayly inquired Hereward, as he passed his hand fondly over her little curly black head.
“She told me that in a few months you (she and yourself) would probably meet in ——. And, in short, that—both being free to form new ties—the old interest in each other would be revived; that after the year of mourning had been past, you two would, of course, marry, and that she should do everything in her power to atone to you for all the disappointment she had caused you, and to make your life happy! Was not that enough to make my hair bristle up on end—to hear another woman tell me to my face that she was going to marry my husband and live happy all the rest of their lives?”
Hereward broke into a merry laugh.
“You know, I could not let her go on dreaming that dream. I told her she must not think of such a thing. And when, being very much astonished at my assurance, she asked me why she must not, I told her because it would be a deadly sin, for that Mr. Hereward’s wife was still living. And when she pressed to know why I thought so, I had to tell her, because I myself was that wife, supposed to be dead. Well, then, of course, it was necessary to tell her the cause of our parting—that it was a bitter misunderstanding growing out of circumstances which placed me in a false light. I spoke only in general terms; and because I could not go into details I offered to cancel our contract and leave her as soon as we should land at Havre.”
“And what would you have done, then, as ‘a stranger in a strange land,’ Lilith? Would you have come on to me?” inquired Hereward.
“Uncalled, and after all that had passed? Oh, no! I could not have done that. I should have taken the first steamer back to New York and returned to Aunt Sophie.”
“Aunt Sophie?”
“Mrs. Downie, the clergyman’s widow, with whom I had lived in New York. But Madame Von Bruyin would not consent to cancel our contract. She insisted that I should remain with her. She was very good about it all. Indeed, she treated me with more than even her usual kindness, and from that hour I became to her as a beloved and cherished sister. I think she got over her sentimental fancy for you, for I think it was nothing more than that.”