“Oh, Lawrence, Lawrence, Lawrence!” and spite of the Judge’s cane,—spite of the Judge’s boot,—spite of the Judge’s burly figure, planted in the doorway to impede her ingress, Lilian Veille rushed headlong into the middle of the room, where she stood a moment, wringing her hands in mute despair, and then fell or rather crouched upon the floor, still crying: “Oh, Lawrence, Lawrence.”
Wholly blinded by her sister, she had as much expected to be the future wife of Lawrence Thornton as to see the next day’s sun, and had never thought it possible for him to choose another, so when she saw his position with Mildred and heard the words: “Lilian can never be my wife,” the shock was overwhelming, and she sank upon the carpet, helpless, sick and fainting.
“Now, I’ll be hanged,” said the Judge, “if this ain’t a little the greatest performance; but go right on, boy, have your say out. I’ll tend to her,” and bursting into the library, he caught up in his trepidation the ink-bottle in stead of the camphor. “A little thrown in her face will fetch her to. Camphor is good for the hysterics,” he said, and hurrying back he would undoubtedly have deluged poor Lilian with ink, if Mildred had not pushed him away just as the first drop had fallen on her dress.
Whether Lawrence would have “had his say out” or not, was not proved, for Mildred sprang to Lilian’s side, and lifting her head upon her lap asked if she were sick.
“No, no,” moaned Lilian, covering her face with her hands and crying a low, plaintive cry, which fell on Mildred’s heart like a reproachful sound, “no, not sick, but I wish that I were dead. Oh, Mildred, how could you serve me so, when you knew that he was mine? Ain’t you, Lawrence? Oh, Lawrence!” and burying her face in Mildred’s lap, she sobbed passionately.
“Lilian,” said Lawrence, drawing near to her, “Lilian, I have never intended to deceive you; I am not responsible for what my father and Geraldine have said——”
“Stop, I won’t hear,” cried Lilian, putting her fingers to her ears. “Mildred coaxed you, I know she did, and that hateful old man, too. Let’s go home, where Geraldine is. You always loved me there.”
She did not seem to blame him in the least; on the contrary, she charged all to Mildred, who could only answer with her tears, for the whole had been so sudden,—so like a dream to herself.
“Carriage at the gate,—is the young lady’s trunk ready?” asked Finn in the hall, and consulting his watch Lawrence saw that if they went that day they had no time to lose.
“Hadn’t we better stay till to-morrow?” he suggested, unwilling to leave until Mildred had told him yes.