“Yes;—he was angry with Gerard and Alice, because of—of—Tom and Bessie Leach. The young people are engaged and he accidentally found it out.”
“Yes, I see;—he thought a Thornton too good to marry a Leach. Do you share his opinion?” Hugh asked, while the blood came surging back to Mildred’s white face in a great red wave, but left it again, except in two round spots which burned on either cheek.
Hugh was torturing her cruelly, and she wrung her hands, but did not answer his question directly. She only said, as she took the will from her pocket and held it towards him, “It is all right? It is legally executed?”
“Yes, it is all right.”
“And it gives everything to me to do with as I please?”
“Yes, it gives everything to you to do with as you please. You are a very rich woman, Mrs. Thornton, and I congratulate you.”
His tone was sarcastic in the extreme, and stung Mildred so deeply that she forgot herself, and going a step nearer to him cried out, “Oh, Hugh, why are you so hard upon me? Why do you hate me so? Don’t you know who I am?”
Hugh had not expected this, for he had no idea that Mildred would ever tell who she was, and the sound of his name, spoken as she used to speak it when excited, moved him strangely. He was still holding her black bonnet, the long veil of which had become twisted around his boot, and without answering her at once he stooped to unwind it and then put the bonnet from him upon the table as if it had been a barrier between him and the woman, whose eyes were upon him.
“Yes,” he said at last, very slowly, for he was afraid his voice might tremble, “You are Mrs. Thornton now; but you were Mildred Leach.”
“Oh, Hugh, I am so glad!” Mildred cried, as she sank into her chair, and covering her face with her hands, sobbed like a child, while Hugh stood looking at her, wondering what he ought to do, or say, and wishing she would speak first. But she did not, and at last he said: