Bonnibel had written:
"Leslie, forgive me if you can. Before God, I wronged you innocently! I thought you dead! If there is one spark of pity or honor in your breast keep my secret. It would kill me to have it known to the world! I will go away from here and hide myself in obscurity forever! Of course I cannot remain with Colonel Carlyle a day longer. You seemed very angry to-night—your eyes flashed lurid lightnings upon me. I pray you, do not believe me willfully guilty—do not betray me for the sake of revenge! The shame, the horror, the disgrace of our fatal secret will kill me soon enough.
Bonnibel."
Looking at the top of the page he saw that she had dashed her pen several times through her monogram. He gnashed his teeth at the sight.
"What could she possibly mean by it?" he asked himself, as he turned the sheet and read the artist's reply:
"Do not fear for your proud position, Bonnibel. Mine is the last hand upon earth that would drag you down from it! Pursue your wonted way in peace and serenity. You need not go away—that is for me to do. God knows I would never have come here to-night had I dreamed of meeting you! But try to forget it! To-morrow I shall have passed out of your life forever, and that most deplorable secret will be as safe with me as if I really were dead!
Leslie Dane."
Colonel Carlyle crumpled those strange, unfathomable notes into his breast-pocket, and went out with ominous calm to bid adieu to his parting guests.
They had enjoyed themselves so much, they said, and with many regrets for Mrs. Carlyle's unfortunate accident they hastened their departure.
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
Bonnibel sat crouching in her chair, a prey to the most hopeless misery, waiting for Lucy's return.