“I don’t wish to hear it,” was his reply; and, nothing daunted, Alice continued:
“But you must hear me. Her name isn’t Miss Grey. She is a married woman, and has a living husband; and you——”
She did not finish the sentence, for like a tiger Frederic started up, and seizing her by the shoulder, exclaimed: “You dare not tell me that again. Marian Grey is not married. She never had a husband,” and as the maddening thought swept over him, that possibly the blind girl told him truly, he staggered against the mantel, where he stood panting for breath, and enduring, as it were, all the agonies of a lingering, painful death.
“Sit down,” said Alice, and like a child he obeyed, while she proceeded, “Miss Grey has deceived us all, and it is strange, too, that none of us should know her—none but Bruno. Don’t you remember how he wouldn’t bite her, just because he knew her when we didn’t? Don’t you mind how I told you once maybe the Marian who went away would come back to us some day so beautiful we should not know her? You are listening, ain’t you?”
“Yes, yes,” came in a quick, short gasp from the arm-chair.
“Well, she has come back! She called herself Marian Grey so we would not guess right off who she was, but she ain’t Marian Grey. She’s the other one—she’s my Marian, Frederic, AND YOUR WIFE—”
As Alice was speaking Frederic had risen to his feet. Drop by drop every particle of blood receded from his face, leaving it colorless as ashes. There was a wild, unnatural light flashing from his eyes—his hands worked nervously together—his hair seemed starting from its roots, and with his head bent forward, he stood transfixed as it were by the dazzling light which had burst upon him. Then his lips parted slowly, and more like a wailing cry than a prayer of thanksgiving, the words “I thank thee, oh, my God,” issued from them. The next moment the air near Alice was set in rapid motion—there was a heavy fall, and Frederic Raymond lay upon the carpet white and still as a block of marble.
Like lightning Alice flew across the floor, but swift as were her movements, another was there before her, and with his head upon her lap was pressing burning kisses upon his lips and dropping showers of tears upon his face. Marian had stood without the door, listening to that dialogue, and when by the fall she knew that it was ended, she came at once and knelt by the fainting man, who ere long began to show signs of consciousness. Alice was first to discover this, and when sure that he would come back to life, she glided silently from the room, for she knew that she would not be needed there.
She might have tarried yet a little longer, for the shock to Frederic had been so sudden and so great, that though his lips moved and his fingers clutched eagerly at the soft hand feeling for his pulse, he did not seem to heed aught else, until Marian whispered in his ear:
“My husband—may I call you so?”