"Miss Waldron is below!" said she. "Judge, you may bring Mr. Amidon up in half an hour. I shall then be at liberty, and may grant his request. Please leave me, now; I have asked Miss Waldron to be shown up, and must see her alone."
Elizabeth Waldron, in this plexus of disasters, found nowhere a gleam of comfort. Her fine chagrin at the thought of such things as she feared might be censurable as overfree self-revelation to her lover in such things as letters and the sweet concessions of the new betrothal—all this was past, now. Tragedy has this of comfort in it: its fateful lightnings burn out of the atmosphere of life all the noisome littlenesses which have seemed worthy of concern. So it was with Elizabeth, as she now faced the very annihilation of all for which she had lived—centered in that "perfect lover," who was now worse than annihilated in this descent to a plane which made every act of homage to her so mean and common that she would have felt his status uplifted by some proof of great guilt on his part. And she could see no way of acquitting him. There was mystery in it, but no exculpation. Mystery——
With the idea of mystery came in the image of the strange girl with the fascinating glance and the party-colored hair. Could it be possible that the occult power possessed by her might somehow furnish an explanation of her lover's strangely base behavior? More and more did this fixed thought engross her mind. She felt that she must know—must see this woman and her colorless father. Desire grew to resolve; resolve bred inquiry as to ways of compassing an interview; and in the midst of the inquiry, came Madame le Claire's messenger. Her answer was the putting on of her cloak for a visit to the occultist's parlors.
The two women faced each other like hostile champions in a truce. Elizabeth's first aversion to the other had been swept away in the flood of righteous jealousy created by the Scarlett episode. Madame le Claire's unreasoning feeling of injury had been mitigated by the same baleful affair, and her sense of justice fought for Elizabeth; but no two women loving the same man ever met without antagonism.
"I thank you," said Miss Waldron, "for this invitation. I think you owe me the benefit of such light as you can give on some—some things—which are dark to me."
A little angry flush rose to Madame le Claire's cheek at the tone in which the first part of this speech was uttered. It passed away, and was replaced by a gentler expression at the doleful and faltering conclusion.
"I owe you," she answered, "more in the way of knowledge than you imagine. I expect other visitors. Will you step into this little rear room? I may be called away from you for a while, but I shall return."
"I need not tell you," said Elizabeth, "how vitally important it is to me to know whether there was anything in your mesmeric influence over—Mr. Brassfield—which would cause him to do—things unworthy of him—as he did. Did you impose any such thing on him by your power?—could you have been so cruel?"
"Before I answer that," replied Clara, "there are many things to tell. When did you first meet Mr. Amidon.—Brassfield, I mean?"
"Why do you call him by that name?" cried Elizabeth. "That is what Mrs. Hunter called him! One moment he told me he knew her; the next, he denied it to her face. What is there in this matter of names?"