It was too much. She could not maintain the icy front of scorn and incredulity she was trying to wear before her bitter foe. She knew that her lips were writhing with pain, and suddenly dropped her face down upon the arm that was outstretched toward the child. The quick movement sent all her beautiful veil of golden hair like a mantle over the graceful, slender form, as if trying to hide her from the angry, burning gaze of Camille, who laughed in insolent triumph when she realized her victory.
“You begin to realize the truth—ha! ha!” she cried. “Ah! now I am repaid for all my scheming and plotting. You are in my power at last. Do you know what pains I took to get you there? I sent a fraudulent telegram to Norman de Vere, and got him out of the way. I sent that message to Mrs. de Vere from Nance, who is no more dying than you are, but your credulous mother-in-law is locked up tight and fast in a negro cabin, from which she will not escape while you remain at Verelands. Of course that will not be long. Your pride will not permit you to remain here to meet my husband when he returns to find that I am alive. Were I in your place, I would take my child in my arms and seek refuge from my deep disgrace in the river.”
She hoped that Thea would take her at her word. It would be a glorious revenge upon the man who had put her away from him with such scathing scorn, but Thea did not answer her. She remained silent, with her convulsed face hidden on her arm.
“You have no right in this house—neither you nor the child—and I command you to go away at once—at once! You hear? I have come to stay, and it would not be pleasant to my husband to return and find his two wives under the same roof. I am going to my rooms now. When I come down-stairs in the morning, I hope that I shall find you gone peaceably away. If you are still here, I shall thrust you forth with my own hands!” stormed the heartless woman; but as she elicited no answer from Thea she turned away after one scathing look of unquenchable hate, and left the room, stumbling over Finette in the hall, and immediately flying into a gust of passion at her disobedience.
“Miladi, I think you ought to try to keep the one friend you have left,” the woman answered, sullenly. “You need not think you will conquer that young girl easily. She has ten times the dignity that you have. She heard all those cruel things with the silence and dignity of a dethroned queen. It is no wonder Mr. de Vere loves her. I think if her parentage could be traced it would be found she had descended from noble blood. I dare say she is kinder to her servants than you to yours. Oh, you don’t like for me to praise her? Well, then, don’t be so ready with your ill words if you don’t want me to turn traitor.”
CHAPTER LVIII.
Norman de Vere had two surprises when he arrived at New York.
The first one was that he found out that there was an unexplainable mystery about the telegram he had received summoning him to a conference with his publisher over his new book. None had been sent, and the book was going on all right.
The second was that he met at his hotel Lord Stuart and his sister, who had arrived only the day before from England.
“We were on our way to Jacksonville to surprise you,” they said; and when he explained what had brought him to New York, they agreed with him that it was very strange.