"I didn't mean to make him think you'd done wrong; I only meant that you and Belhaven had been foolish, thoughtless. It was Johnstone who thought the evil; he has a bad mind, he said at once that he'd make Belhaven marry you."
"But I won't marry Belhaven."
"Then he'll kill him!" Eva rose and stood, clutching at the chintz winged chair; she was very beautiful, very childlike. Such women often are; these shallow souls sometimes have only enough soil for weeds, and weeds grow mightily.
Rachel steadied herself; she began to realize at last that this honor must be true. "I'm not concerned for Belhaven, I'm concerned for my own good name. I never imagined that my own sister would slander me."
Eva turned and held out both her beautiful arms pleadingly. Her beauty had never failed of its appeal; would it fail now in its appeal to the sister who loved her?
"I was crazed with grief, I never thought, I hadn't time, I spoke in a moment of agony. Johnstone wouldn't believe what I said. I thought he was going to kill me—I was afraid for my life, I made wild excuses, I scarcely knew what I said and your name slipped out. In an instant he seized upon it—forgive me!" She went nearer and laid a hand upon Rachel's arm, then, as Rachel did not repulse her, she threw both arms around her neck. "I'll bear it all!" she sobbed, "I'll let him disgrace me; I'll see Belhaven die—I'll die myself, but I can't do it without your forgiveness!"
Rachel did not repulse her; all her life she had shielded Eva, watched over her; she could not quite shake off the fetters of a habit fixed as the seven hills of Rome. Eva clung closer.
"He'll kill Belhaven, he'll shoot him down and be tried for murder; and I—oh, God!" she laid her head on Rachel's shoulder and wept passionately, "I wish I could die!"
Rachel looked down at the prone, golden head with a shudder of anguish; she remembered her mother's last words to her, when she had extracted a promise from Rachel to take care of her younger sister. She said that Eva was tender and helpless and easily led; she must, therefore, be taken care of. It is strange, but the beautiful child in a family is always apparently more in need of care and sacrifice than are her commonplace brothers and sisters; there seems to be a brittle quality about her, she is like blown-glass, attractive but not substantial. Beauty is like the flame of a candle, in some eyes; it not only draws the moths but it is easily extinguished.
"It will be horrible," Eva sighed. "It will kill me—after I'm dead—will you forgive me, Rachel?"