"Bah! your acting disgusts me!" exclaimed Minnette, contemptuously. "Do you not suppose I can see through this vail with which you would blind my eyes? You will tell him to-morrow, forsooth! Yes, you will tell him I came here to abuse you, and strike you, and load you with vile epithets, and with what saint-like patience you bore them. You will represent yourself as such an injured innocent, and I as a monster of cruelty; you will tell him, when I smote you on one cheek, how you turned the other. Faugh! do not make me despise you as well as hate you."
"You cannot despise me, Minnette; you know you cannot," said Celeste, with something like indignation in her gentle voice, as her truth-beaming eye met undauntedly the flashing orbs before her. "You know I have spoken the truth. You know in your own heart I am no hypocrite. Hate me if you will—I cannot prevent you; but you shall not despise me. I have never intentionally wronged you, and I never will. If Louis Oranmore loves you as you say, I wish you both all happiness. I shall no longer stand between you and his heart."
"Oh! wonderful heroism!" cried Minnette, in bitter mockery. "You can well afford to say you give him up, when you know he loves me no longer; when you know you have surely and unalterably won him to yourself. Well do you know this pretended self-denial of yours will elevate you a thousand times higher still in his estimation, and make him love you far more than ever before. Oh! you have learned your trade of deception well. Pity all cannot see through it as I do. Think not to deceive me as you have done so many others; I, at least, can see your shallow, selfish, cold-blooded heart."
"I will not stay to listen to your words, Minnette; they are too dreadful. Some day, perhaps, you will discover how you have wronged me. I am not deceiving you; he must give me up if what you say be true. I will even go away if you wish it—anywhere, so that you may be satisfied. I will write and tell him, and never see him more, if that will satisfy you." Her voice faltered a little, but she went on; "I will do anything—anything, Minnette, if you will only not call me such terrible things. It is fearful—horrible, to be hated so without cause."
Minnette did not speak, but glared upon her with her burning, flaming eyes. Two dark purple spots—now fading, now glowing vividly out—burned on either cheek; otherwise, no snow-wreath was ever whiter than her face. Her teeth were set hard; her hands tightly clenched; her dark brows knit, as though about to spring upon the speaker and rend her to pieces. She made one step toward her. With a piercing cry of terror, Celeste sprang away, darted through the garden gate, flew up the narrow path, burst into the cottage, closed and bolted the door, and sank, panting and almost fainting, on the ground.
"Good heavens! child, what is the matter?" asked Miss Hagar, rising, in alarm.
"Oh! save me—save me from her!" was all Celeste could utter.
"Save you from whom? Who are you speaking of? Who has frightened you so?" inquired Miss Hagar, still more astonished.
Celeste slowly rose from the ground, without speaking. Consciousness was beginning to return, but she was still stunned and bewildered.
"Merciful Father!" cried Miss Hagar, as Celeste turned toward the light, "what has happened?"