But no answering smile met his. Pansy was as pale as death as she began:
“Louisville was not my—native place—as I told you. I—I—was born—in Richmond—and I am at this moment—under my mother’s roof.”
Colonel Falconer started violently, but he still kept fast hold of her little hand as she continued:
“That is not all. I—I—had run away from my home when I met Mrs. Beach. There—there—was a stain—upon my name—although,” passionately, “I swear to you it was not my fault! I am—Heaven pity me!—that girl whom Juliette Ives hates so relentlessly because she caused the breaking of her engagement with Norman Wylde.”
“Pansy Laurens!” Colonel Falconer uttered, in a voice of horror; and he dropped her hand and started back.
She made no reply. Her confession had exhausted her strength, and she had fainted.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
NOBLE FORGIVENESS.
Colonel Falconer stood gazing like one petrified at his unconscious wife until suddenly his own face whitened to a marble pallor, an expression of keen agony convulsed his features, and, clasping both hands upon his breast, he sank backward into a chair, while a low moan of pain escaped his lips.
He had been seized with a spasm at the heart, a misfortune that had befallen him at various times in his life, but of which he had never spoken to Pansy, being very sensitive on the score of the heart disease, which was hereditary in the Falconer family, and of which his sister, Mrs. Ives, had died.
For a few moments he lay back in the chair, struggling with all his strength of mind against his misery; then, putting his hand into his breast pocket, he brought out a small vial, from whose contents he swallowed a few drops. The effect soon became apparent in a cessation of the terrible pain. Then a low, frightened cry from the bed made him look toward Pansy, and he found that she had revived and was staring at him with a glance of wonder and fear.