“Any way, that’s what she said—the tall one, with great black eyes jest like coals of fire. Phil picked ’em up in Frankford, whar they got off the boat. They’s some o’ yer kin they say.”
Frederic did not wish to hear any more, for he suspected who they were. It was about this time they had talked of visiting Dayton, and motioning Dinah from the room, he pressed his hands to his forehead, and thought, “Must I suffer this, too? Oh, why did she come to look at me in my misery?” Then, forcing an unnatural calmness, he started for the parlor, where, as he had feared, he stood face to face with Isabel Huntington.
She was very pale, and in her black eyes there was a hard, dangerous expression, from which he gladly turned away, addressing first her mother, who, rising to meet him, said:
“We have accepted your invitation, you see.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and he was trying to stammer out a welcome, when Isabel, who all the time had been aching to pounce upon him, chimed,
“Where is Mrs. Raymond? I am dying to see my new cousin” and in the eyes of black there was a reddish gleam, as if they might ere long emit sparks of living fire.
“Mrs. Raymond!” repeated Frederic, the name dropping slowly from his lips. “Mrs. Raymond! Oh! Isabel, don’t you know? Havn’t you heard?”
“Certainly I have,” returned the young lady, watching him as a fierce cat watches his helpless prey. “Of course I have heard of your marriage, and have come to congratulate you. Is your wife well?”
Frederic raised his hand to stop the flippant speech, and when it finished he rejoined: “But havn’t you heard the rest—the saddest part of all? Marian is dead!—drowned—at least we think she must be, for she went away on our wedding night, and no trace of her can be found.”
The fiery gleam was gone from the black eyes—the color came back to the cheeks—the finger nails ceased their painful pressure upon the tender flesh—the shadow of a smile dimpled the corner of the mouth, and Isabel was herself again.