‘And you have kept it ever since? This letter—left for his daughter to read after his death. You are indeed a wicked woman.’
‘I did not think how wicked it was at the time,’ faltered Bella. ‘But some devil prompted me to take it, and hide it—till—till I should feel inclined to give it up. And then—oh, why do you make me tell you all my wickedness? I knew that you loved her, and I thought—if—if people believed her guilty of her father’s death, you would not marry her. That awful suspicion would part you. The letter might have put an end to the suspicion, perhaps. I did not know what was in the letter. I never broke the seal, you see. Yes, I was steeped in wickedness when I did it. I would have sold my soul to Satan to part you and Beatrix. Do you think God will forgive me?’
‘God’s mercy is infinite, and forgives even treachery,’ answered Cyril, coldly. He was standing by the dressing-table, holding Christian Harefield’s letter in his hand. ‘But it is a sin that man finds it hard to forgive. What you did was a vile and cruel act. I cannot palter with the truth because your hours are numbered. That is the reason why I should speak all the more plainly. If I were a stranger to Beatrix Harefield, I should look upon your conduct with horror—but I—I—who loved and wronged her—wronged her by a suspicion which this letter might have set at rest for ever—how can I think of your conduct calmly? How can you expect pardon or pity from me?’
‘I don’t expect either,’ whimpered Bella. ‘I’m glad I am going to die. I have made a wretched use of my life. I am almost glad it is over. And yet it seems hard to die before one is five-and-twenty.’
Her hand, straying idly in its feverish unrest, entangled itself in a tress of auburn hair.
‘Isn’t it bright and long?’ she said, with a bitter little laugh. ‘With most women beauty dies first. They die piecemeal, a little bit at a time, till there is no trace left of the girl people used to admire. That must be dreadful. To look in the glass some morning, and see the change all at once, and cry, “Can this really be I?” I am glad I have escaped that.’
Cyril stood with the letter in his hand, silent.
‘Why don’t you open that letter?’ asked Bella. ‘It will solve the mystery, no doubt.’
‘Whether it can or no, I shall not break the seal,’ answered Cyril. ‘It shall be my business to put this letter into Beatrix Harefield’s hand.’
‘And you will tell her how wicked I was, and how I hated her from the moment I knew she had stolen your love.’