A soft voice uttered the words, and an apparition appeared at the door, which made all start and recoil with amazement—Jean Muir leaning on the arm of Sir John.
“How dare you return?” began Edward, losing the self-control so long preserved. “How dare you insult us by coming back to enjoy the mischief you have done? Uncle, you do not know that woman!”
“Hush, boy, I will not listen to a word, unless you remember where you are,” said Sir John with a commanding gesture.
“Remember your promise: love me, forgive me, protect me, and do not listen to their accusations,” whispered Jean, whose quick eye had discovered the letters.
“I will; have no fears, my child,” he answered, drawing her nearer as he took his accustomed place before the fire, always lighted when Mrs. Coventry was down.
Gerald, who had been pacing the room excitedly, paused behind Lucia’s chair as if to shield her from insult; Bella clung to her mother; and Edward, calming himself by a strong effort, handed his uncle the letters, saying briefly, “Look at those, sir, and let them speak.”
“I will look at nothing, hear nothing, believe nothing which can in any way lessen my respect and affection for this young lady. She has prepared me for this. I know the enemy who is unmanly enough to belie and threaten her. I know that you both are unsuccessful lovers, and this explains your unjust, uncourteous treatment now. We all have committed faults and follies. I freely forgive Jean hers, and desire to know nothing of them from your lips. If she has innocently offended, pardon it for my sake, and forget the past.”
“But, Uncle, we have proofs that this woman is not what she seems. Her own letters convict her. Read them, and do not blindly deceive yourself,” cried Edward, indignant at his uncle’s words.
A low laugh startled them all, and in an instant they saw the cause of it. While Sir John spoke, Jean had taken the letters from the hand which he had put behind him, a favorite gesture of his, and, unobserved, had dropped them on the fire. The mocking laugh, the sudden blaze, showed what had been done. Both young men sprang forward, but it was too late; the proofs were ashes, and Jean Muir’s bold, bright eyes defied them, as she said, with a disdainful little gesture. “Hands off, gentlemen! You may degrade yourselves to the work of detectives, but I am not a prisoner yet. Poor Jean Muir you might harm, but Lady Coventry is beyond your reach.”
“Lady Coventry!” echoed the dismayed family, in varying tones of incredulity, indignation, and amazement.