These were the words that flashed across the mind of the guilty girl, whenever her eyes rested upon Carl. They seemed to be graven on her mind in letters of flame. To be near him in the taking of his dictation was one of the uncertain pleasures of her daily life. She knew that Carl had been deeply in love with Sana, but she knew too that he believed Sana was dead. At the same time that she feared, she also was angered by the fact that Carl’s affection even now seemed to be inevitably riveted upon a thing which for him Death had long since claimed. She, Grace, was still young and comely, yet he passed her by in his worship at a shrine wherein the image lay crumbling to the dust. This thought alone caused the girl to pursue the course, which even to herself was no source of joy, but a hideous curse, and insidious menace that seemed to follow her as a shadow even on the brightest day and as a blighting curse even in moments that should have given a small measure of joy and happiness.
To use the effect of the Mann Act as a stepping stone, to gain her desires often occurred to her, but, although she did not mind the notoriety attached to it she did not know how to go about it other than to openly accuse Carl. At this she balked. She would bide her time. He did not know Sana was alive and if she could help it, he would never know. And who could tell but what with the passing of the days Carl might turn to Grace for friendship.
The change in Grace became so obvious, that even Carl was forced to take notice of it, but he could not account for it.
Grace watched every incoming mail very closely, for the cablegram had stated, a letter would follow. That letter must never reach Carl, as that would mean the failure of all her plans. No amount of watching, no amount of worry, would be too great a price, Grace reasoned, to pay for the opportunity of getting that letter in her possession.
Then, at last, came the long watched-for missive!
There it lay on the desk before her, with its African stamp and postmark. The woman’s hand with which it had been addressed spoke plainly that this letter was from Sana, Carl’s true love.
What should she do with it? Should she play the game squarely and place the letter on Carl’s desk for him to read? The good in her made a vain effort to fight down the evil. She would keep it. Carl must not have it. No, a thousand times no!
All that day she kept the letter hidden at her bosom. How it seemed to burn her flesh one moment and freeze her very blood the next! It seemed to Grace that it would shriek out its message to the man from whom she was hiding it. But she did not falter in her evil purpose. Although heart sick and weary at the realization of her wrong, she clung to it with grim resolve.
At last the day, the longest she had ever lived, came to an end and she hurried home eager to read that letter, but weighed down with a nameless fear, with strange foreboding.
It was but the work of a moment to unseal the envelope over the steam of a kettle. With feverish haste, she drew out its contents, and read, half aloud, with halting words: