“I see it all now!” she cried again. “Then I was right. She come—she come here, and poisoned him with her soft looks and ways, and he’s left me—to go away with her to-night!”
Mary made a clutch at vacancy; and then, tottering, would have fallen, had not Hallett been close at hand to catch her and help her to the couch, where the poor woman lay perfectly insensible, having fainted for probably the first time in her life.
“What does she mean?” cried Hallett, as he made, with me, ineffectual efforts to restore her.
“She was angry and jealous the night she came and found Linny here attending on Revitts,” I cried in a bewildered way, hardly knowing what I said. “And now she thinks, because he has left her to-night, that he has gone away with Linny.”
“Poor fool?” he said sadly.
“Revitts was very strange to-day,” I said, “and—and—and, Hallett—oh, forgive me,” I said, “I’ve kept something from you.”
“What!” he cried, catching me so fiercely by the arm that he caused me acute pain. “Don’t tell me that I have been deceived, too, in you!”
“No, Hallett, I haven’t deceived you,” I said. “I kept something back that I ought to have told you.”
“You kept something back!” he cried. “Speak—speak at once, Antony, or—or—speak, boy; I’m not master of myself!”
“Linny begged me so hard not to tell you, and I consented, on condition that she would mind what you said.”