Leo went and brought her a glass of ice-water.
Pina poured some Florida water upon a handkerchief and offered her, saying caressingly:
“Oh, mist’ess, dear, don’t take on so. It’s the Lord’s will, you know.”
“It is NOT, Pina! The sin of man is NOT the will of God!” passionately broke forth the long-suffering soul.
“Oh, mist’ess, dear, ’scuse me. I didn’t know ’twas sin. I thought ’twas only sickness, or something.”
“I—hush!—I spoke hastily—I spoke without thinking. There, Pina, that will do. Thank you, child. Go, leave me now; I am better by myself; do go. Leo, take her away,” with difficulty gasped Drusilla.
And when she had got her servants out of the room and bolted the door, she threw herself into her chair and gave free vent to the suppressed sobs and tears that had been nearly choking her.
“Oh, what a letter to write me! After such a long and cruel silence too! Cannot pay me a visit this autumn! ‘Pay me a visit!’ What does he mean by that? This is his home and I am his wife. And he signs himself my friend and well-wisher. ‘Friend and well-wisher!’ And no more than that? Why he is my husband! Oh, what does he mean by this cruel letter?” she cried, with streaming eyes and heaving breast.
Then she drew from her bosom the small black silk bag, took from it the piece of paper of which mention has already made, read it through her tear-dimmed eyes, then kissed and replaced it, saying:
“If it was not for this precious little document, I should think he meant to abandon me. I should fear that I was not his wife. I should fear I had been fooled by a false marriage. But this bit of paper proves that I am truly his lawful wife—though he treats me more like a—Ah, Heaven forgive him! I am very glad I found this little document. It reassures me when I doubt. And this great grief so clouds my mind that I suppose I can’t help doubting, even when such doubt is mere madness. But I have the paper, and ‘seeing is believing,’” she sighed.