“No, Lady Bellamy; if I thought that I was to lose him for ever, I might be tempted to do what is wrong in order to be with him for a time; but I do not think that. I only lose him for a time that I may gain him for ever. In this world he is separated from me, in the worlds to come my rights will assert themselves, and we shall be together, and never part any more.”
Lady Bellamy looked at her wonderingly, for her eyes could still express her emotions.
“You are a fine creature,” she said, “and, if you believe that, perhaps it will be true for you, since Faith must be the measure of realization. But, after all, he may not have married her. That will be for you to find out.”
“How can I find out?”
“By writing to him, of course—to the care of Mrs. Carr, Madeira. That is sure to find him.”
“Thank you. How can I thank you enough?”
“It seems to me that you owe me few thanks. You are always foolish about what tends to secure your own happiness, or you would have thought of this before.”
There was a pause, and then Angela rose to go.
“Are you going. Yes, go. I am not fit company for such as you. Perhaps we shall not meet again; but, in thinking of all the injuries that I have done you, remember that my punishment is proportionate to my sin. They tell me that I may live for years.”
Angela gazed at the splendid wreck beneath her, and an infinite pity swelled in her gentle heart. Stooping, she kissed her on the forehead. A wild astonishment filled Lady Bellamy’s great, dark eyes.