And, lastly, and just before leaving the room, she sank on her knees, and prayed with dramatic fervor:
"Oh, God, if Thou wilt hear the prayer of a wretch like me, I implore that Thou wilt watch over and protect from harm the poor girl whom I have betrayed into that wretch's hands!"
When the hue and cry arose the next morning over Geraldine's disappearance, she was as much excited as any, and her grief was as noisy as that of the others.
She was indeed grieved and remorseful over her evil deed, and she had only one comfort to offer herself:
"Self-preservation is the first law of nature."
She had saved herself, and, as the days dragged by, her first terror of discovery gave place to a conviction of safety. Not the least suspicion had pointed her out as the wretch she was. The children still remained devoted to her, Mrs. Fitzgerald was kind, Miss Carroll courteous, the servants respectful. She began to breathe freely again, saying, to herself:
"Why should I fret? Of course Standish has married the girl, and she ought to be glad to get such a handsome husband!"
She could not banish a little bitter jealousy of Geraldine, for once she had hoped to marry Standish herself, and the old passion still ached in her heart, though she had fled from him in horror when she learned that he had a living wife.
Now that two weeks had passed, she supposed they were married and happy, and some day there might be a reconciliation between the mother and daughter and the son-in-law who had so cleverly stolen his bride. Standish had promised that no matter what happened, his confederate's agency in the affair should never be known.
But she would not have begun to feel so confident of her position if she could have heard what the detective, Norris, was saying that day to Hawthorne.