“That will do very well, I suppose; but I wish she would get married. I should feel better satisfied over her then,” said the colonel, and they both thought at once of Norman Wylde.
The color rose to her delicate pearl-fair face in a warm tide of crimson, and Colonel Falconer grew pale, and smothered an oath between his lips.
“Pansy, I feel like I ought to kill that fellow for his villainy to you,” he said abruptly.
“Let him alone. Heaven will punish him for my wrongs,” she answered, and then, clasping her beautiful hands imploringly, she wailed: “But, oh, my poor, deserted little child, my heart aches when I think of him! If I only had him with me I could be content.”
“Do not grow impatient, darling. I have promised to try to get the child for you, but it must be done very quietly, for no one must suspect that we had anything to do with abducting him. He must be abducted, you understand that, do you not, Pansy?”
“Yes, for I know well that no amount of bribery would induce Mrs. Meade to give him up, and I dare not assert my legal claim to him,” sighed poor, unhappy Pansy.
He tried to comfort her, as if she had been a little child, and at last she sobbed herself to sleep in his arms, and he held her thus for more than an hour, gazing on the sweet, sad little face with eyes full of love and pity.
“Poor little darling, how bitterly and undeservedly you have suffered,” he thought, adding bitterly: “Curses on the false-hearted villain that betrayed her innocent youth! I hope I may never meet him again, for if I did I fear I should take vengeance into my own hands.”
The next morning, when the colonel’s valet brought in the mail, it consisted of nothing but the New York papers. He had finished breakfast, and took them out on the porch to read. Pansy followed him, and sat down in her little rocking-chair to enjoy the beautiful mountain scenery that lay outspread like a succession of pictures before her eyes.
Colonel Falconer selected his favorite paper, lighted his morning cigar, and disposed himself comfortably to read.