Several days passed, and Robert Granger did not appear. The harvest was now at its height, and the farmers prolonged their labors until sunset, and often later. This was the ostensible reason for his remaining away. During these days Mrs. Jerome was in a restless mood. She wandered continually about the woods and fields near the farm-house, remaining out far into the bright, dewless nights. One evening she complained of headache, and remained in-doors, sitting in négligé by the window, looking listlessly out over the orchard. Nettie came in from a stroll with Lill, and gave her mistress a letter.
"We met Mr. Granger, and he gave me this, madam," she said, respectfully, but her glance rested with some curiosity upon the face of Mrs. Jerome as she spoke.
The letter remained unopened upon her lap long after Nettie had gone with the child to her room. Finally, she tore the envelope open and read:
"What is the use of struggling any longer? You have seen, from the first day, that I was entirely at your mercy. There have been times when I thought you were coldly and deliberately trying your power over me; and there have been other times when I thought you were laughing at me, and I did not care, so long as I could see your face and hear your voice. I never allowed myself to think of the end. Now all is changed. What has happened? I am too miserable—and too madly happy—to think clearly; but, unless I am quite insane, I have heard your voice speaking my name, and I have seen in your face a look which meant—no, I cannot write it! It was something I have never dared dream of, and I cannot believe it, even now; and yet, I cannot forget that moment! If it is a sin to write this—if it is a wrong to you—I swear I have never meant to sin, and I would have kept silent forever but for that moment. Then, too, it flashed upon me for the first time that you did not know I was not free to love you. It must be that you did not know—the doubt is an insult to your womanhood—and yet, when I tried to make sure of this, how you baffled me! But still that moment remains unforgotten. What does it all mean? I must have an answer! I shall come to-morrow, at the usual time. If you refuse to see me, I shall understand. If not—what then?
"R. G."
The letter fell to the floor, and Helen Jerome sat for a while with heaving breast and hands clasped tightly over her face. Then she rose and paced up and down the chamber, pausing at length before one of the photographs with which she had adorned the bare walls. Through sombre, lurid vapors swept the figures of two lovers, with wild, wan faces, clasped in an eternal embrace of anguish. She looked at the picture a long time with a brooding face. In the dusk the floating figures seemed to expand into living forms, their lips to utter audible cries of despair.
"Even at that price?"
She shuddered as the words escaped her lips, and turned away. There was a tap at the door, and, before she could speak, a woman entered,—a spare, plain-featured woman, dressed in a dark cotton gown and coarse straw hat. There was something gentle, yet resolute, in her manner, as she came toward Mrs. Jerome, her eyes full of repressed, yet eager, scrutiny.
"Good evenin', ma'am," she said, extending a vinaigrette of filigree and crystal. "I was comin' up this way an' I thought I'd bring ye your bottle. Leastways, I s'pose it's yourn. It fell out o' Rob's pocket."
She let her eyes wander while she was speaking over the falling golden hair, the rich robe-de-chambre, and back to the beautiful proud face.