"I shall come to her soon enough," returned Miss Porter, continuing her story. "No living being, save the old woman at my side, knew of my escape, and I could bribe her easily. Fortunately I carried the most of my money about my person, and I said to her, 'There are reasons why, for a time at least, I wish to be considered dead. Here are twenty dollars now, and the same shall be paid you every month that you are silent. No human creature must know that I am living.' I saw by the kindling of her eye at the sight of the gold that I was safe, and when the night shadows were falling I stole from her cabin, and taking a circuitous route to avoid observation, I reached the midway station in time for the evening train.
"Three days later in a distant city I read of the sad catastrophe— read that all had been found but one, a Miss Porter, from Florida, and as I read I thought 'he will see that, too.' He did see it. Before going to Carterville I sent to Sunnyside a girl who was under peculiar obligations to me, and one whom I could trust. She secured the place. She was employed at last about the person of that young girl, who had lived at Sunnyside since she was a child, a friendless orphan."
There was a quick, gasping moan as if the soul were parting from the body, and Rosamond fell upon her face, which the pillows concealed from view, while Miss Porter hurriedly proceeded:
"There is but little more to tell. I wrote to the girl who took her own letters from the office. I told her all, and from her heard that the bridal day was fixed. The obstacle was removed—not insanity, but a living wife. Need I say more?"
She paused, but from the bed where the crushed, motionless figure lay, there came no sound, and she said again, "Speak, Rosamond. Curse me, if you will, for saving you from an unlawful marriage."
Still there was no sound, save the low sighing of the wind, which seemed to have taken a fresh note of sadness as if bewailing the unutterable desolation of the young girl, who lay so still and lifeless that Marie Porter's heart quickened with fear, and drawing near, she touched the little hand resting on the pillow. It was cold— rigid—as was also the face which she turned to the light.
"It is death!" she cried, and a wild shriek rang through the house, bringing at once the servants, headed by Mrs. Peters.
"What is it?" cried the latter, as she saw the helpless figure and beautiful upturned face.
"It's death, madam—death, and it's coming on me, too," answered Miss Porter, clasping her hands over her heart, which throbbed as it never had done before, and which at last prostrated her upon the lounge.
But no one heeded her, save the girl Maria. The rest gave their attention to Rosamond, who lay so long in the death-like stupor that others than Miss Porter believed her dead.