"I am bound, your honor," he said, "to inform those most interested that, though the lady's evidence has completely vindicated Leslie Dane, she has utterly failed to establish the legality of her marriage with him. On the contrary, owing to the youth and inexperience of the young man, perhaps partly attributable to his haste and agitation that night, and to the culpable forgetfulness and carelessness of the aged minister here, there was no license procured for the authority of the marriage ceremony. Her former marriage, therefore, has no legality in the eyes of the law, and she still remains, as she has been known the last three years, the wife of Colonel Carlyle."
As the lawyer resumed his seat, amid a breathless hum of excitement, a loud shriek pierced the air of the court-room—a wild, horrible, blood-curdling, maniacal cry. Every eye turned on Felise Herbert, who had risen in her seat, and with distorted features, livid lips and burning eyes, was wildly beating the air with her hands. Her appearance was appalling to behold as she stood there with her hat falling off, her hair in disorder, and foam flecks on her livid, writhing lips.
"Foiled! foiled!" she exclaimed wildly. "I am baffled of my revenge at every point."
Everyone seemed horror-struck. None attempted to molest her as she moved forward and stood before Colonel Carlyle. The old man looked up at her vacantly. He had neither moved nor spoken since the entrance of his wife; he seemed to be fettered hand and foot by a trance of horror. He did not heed the threatening look in the eyes of Felise Herbert as they fell upon him, full of the wild glare of madness.
"You jilted me, fool!" she said, passionately, wildly gesticulating with her hands—"jilted me for the sake of Bonnibel Vere's baby beauty. I swore revenge upon you both. I forged the notice of Leslie Dane's death, made her believe it was true, and drove her to desperation and forced her to marry you. I made you jealous by my anonymous letters, and turned your married life into a hell upon earth. But now, the sweetest drop in my cup—the illegality of your marriage—is turned into bitterness. But I will have my revenge yet. Die, die, villain!"
One movement, swift as the lightning flash, and a little dagger gleamed in her hand, and the next instant was buried to the hilt in Colonel Carlyle's heart.
With a groan he fell on the floor at her feet.
Strong hands bore the raving maniac away, attended by her frightened, horror-struck mother.
The poor victim of the madwoman's fatal revenge, as he lay weltering in his blood, lifted his dimming eyes, and gasped one imploring word:
"Bonnibel!"