She dropped her hands upon the altar–rails, and seemed as if she would have fallen. The rector put his arm about her to support her, and she went on:
"I thought I should have spared her this," she said, pointing to Belinda; "but I can't help it. She must bear her misery as well as others. It can't be worse for her than it has been for others. She must bear––"
"My wife!" said Edward Arundel; "Mary, my poor sorrowful darling––alive?"
Belinda turned away, and buried her face upon her mother's shoulder. She could have borne anything better than this.
His heart––that supreme treasure, for which she had rendered up thanks to her God––had never been hers after all. A word, a breath, and she was forgotten; his thoughts went back to that other one. There was unutterable joy, there was unspeakable tenderness in his tone, as he spoke of Mary Marchmont, though she stood by his side, in all her foolish bridal finery, with her heart newly broken.
"O mother," she cried, "take me away! take me away, before I die!"
Olivia flung herself upon her knees by the altar–rails. Where the pure young bride was to have knelt by her lover's side this wretched sinner cast herself down, sunk far below all common thoughts in the black depth of her despair.
"O my sin, my sin!" she cried, with clasped hands lifted up above her head. "Will God ever forgive my sin? will God ever have pity upon me? Can He pity, can He forgive, such guilt as mine? Even this work of to–day is no atonement to be reckoned against my wickedness. I was jealous of this other woman; I was jealous! Earthly passion was still predominant in this miserable breast."
She rose suddenly, as if this outburst had never been, and laid her hand upon Edward Arundel's arm.
"Come!" she said; "come!"