“‘She shall pay for that,’ he said—‘shall suffer until the demon within me is satisfied, and I rather think I am possessed of the devil. Eugenie says I am, in her last interesting document,’ and he laughed bitterly, as he took from his pocket a dainty little epistle, bearing the London post-mark, and stepping to the window, through which the early morning light was streaming, glanced again at the letter which had been forwarded to him from Paris, and a part of which had reference to Anna.
“‘Who was the doll-faced little girl I saw with you in the carriage, and why didn’t you call upon me after that day? Were you afraid to meet me, and what new fancy is this so soon after that other affair? Ernest Haverleigh, I believe you are possessed with a demon, which makes you at times a maniac.’
‘Yes, I believe I am mad. I wonder if it is in the family far back, working itself out in me?’ Haverleigh said, as he stood with his eyes riveted upon the last two lines. ‘Curse this woman with that spell she holds over me. If it were not for her Agatha might have been living, and I might forgive Anna, for I do believe I am nearer loving her than any woman I ever saw, and that is why I feel so bitter, so unrelenting, so determined upon revenge.’
“There were signs of waking life in and around the chateau now. The servants were astir, and so Haverleigh left the room where he had passed the night, and which since Agatha’s death had borne the cognomen of ‘the haunted chamber.’ On the stairs he met with Madame Verwest, who stood with hands folded and eyes bent down, her usual attitude while receiving his orders.
“Anna was to have breakfast in her own room, he said, and be waited on by Celine, and then about ten o’clock he would see her alone, for he must be off that night for Paris.
“It was a very dainty breakfast of chocolate, and fruits, and French rolls, and limpid honey and eggs which Celine took to her mistress, whom she had dressed becomingly in a white cashmere wrapper, with broad blue sash, knotted at the side, and a blue silk, sleeveless jacket. In spite of the weary night, Anna was very beautiful that morning, though a little pale and worn, with a shadow about the eyes, which were lifted so timidly and questioningly to Haverleigh when at last he entered the salon and closed the door behind him.
“‘Oh, Ernest, husband!’ she began; but she never called him by either of those names again, and half an hour later she lay on her face among the silken cushions of the couch, a terrified, bewildered, half-crazed creature, to whom death would have been a welcome relief just then.
“He had succeeded in making her comprehend her position fully, and in some degree to comprehend him. He was a man who never forgot and who never forgave. He had loved her, he believed; at least, he had conferred upon her the great honor of becoming his wife—had raised her from nothing to a high and dazzling position, because he liked her face and fancied she liked him. She had certainly made him think so, and he, whom many a high-born damsel of both Scotland and England had tried to captivate, had made a little Yankee shoe-stitcher Mrs. Haverleigh, and then had heard from her own lips that she loathed him, that she shrank from his touch, that she married him for money, for fine dresses, and jewelry, and furniture, and horses, and carriages, and servants—and he added with an oath: ‘You shall have all this. You shall have everything you married me for, except your freedom, and that you never shall have until I change my purpose;’ then, without giving her a chance to speak in her own defense, he went on to unfold his plan formed on the instant when he stood by the door in New York and heard her foolish speech to Mrs. Fleming. She was to remain at Chateau d’Or, where every possible luxury was to be hers, and where the servants were to yield her perfect obedience, except in one particular. She was never to go unattended outside the grounds, or off the little island on which the chateau stood. Monsieur Brunell, who kept the gate, would see this law enforced, as he would see to everything else. All letters which she wished to send to him or her friends would be given to Brunell’s care. No other person would dare touch them, and it would be useless for her to try to persuade or bribe them, as they all feared him and would obey his orders. For society she would have Madame Verwest, and plenty of books in the library, and a splendid piano, which she would find in the same room, with a small cabinet organ for Sunday use, ‘as you New Englanders are all so pious,’ he added, with a sneer. Then pausing a moment, as if to rally his forces for a last blow, he said, slowly and distinctly:
“Brunell and Madame Verwest know you are my wife, but I have told them you are crazy, and that rather than send you to a lunatic asylum, I shall keep you in close confinement here for a while, unless you become furious, in which case there are plenty of places for you, not so good as this, or as much to your taste. To the other servants I make no explanations, except that you are crazy, and that it is a fancy of yours that you are not. This fancy they will humor to a certain extent, but you cannot bribe them. They will give you every possible attention. Celine will wait upon you as if you were a queen. You can dine in state every day, with twenty courses, if you like, and wear a new dress each time. You can drive in the grounds when it suits you, and drive alone there; but when you go outside the gates, Madame Verwest, or Celine, or some trusty person will accompany you, as it is not safe for a lunatic to go by herself into strange quarters. At intervals, as it suits my convenience or pleasure, I shall visit you as my wife, and shall be the most devoted of husbands in the presence of the servants, who will thus give me their sympathy and wholly discredit anything you may tell them. So beat your pretty wings as you may, and break your heart as often as you like, you cannot help yourself. I am supreme here. I am your master, and Madame Verwest says of me sometimes that I am a madman—ha, ha!”
“It was the laugh of a demon, and the look of the man was the look of a madman as he pushed from him the quivering form which had thrown itself upon the floor at his feet supplicating for pity, for pardon. He had neither, and with a coarse laugh which echoed through the salon like the knell of death to all poor Anna’s happiness, he left the room and she heard his heavy footsteps as he went swiftly down the stone stairway and out into the court.