Again he groaned in bitterness of soul, and Annette added:
“If she learned the cruel truth—that she was duped into the marriage, and that you were loyal all the while—I believe that her heart would break with the agony of the knowledge.”
“My poor lost love!” he sighed; and his grief for her seemed even greater than his own.
He remembered how dearly she had loved him, how she had clung to him the night of their parting. And the cruel woman whose prattling had forced them asunder, he cursed her in his heart.
“If you could see Royall Sherwood, who won her from you, in the desolation and hopelessness of his life, in his secret, jealous pain over Daisie, I believe you could find it in your heart to pity him,” exclaimed Annette, with tears in her brilliant eyes.
“I do pity him,” he answered.
“Then have mercy on him and on her—the girl you love. Keep this miserable secret, that could but add to their misery, and leave them in peace!” she implored.
“And forego revenge on that scheming woman?” he cried wrathfully.
“Yes; for both their sakes. Some day, when he is dead, poor fellow!”—she shuddered as with a chill—“let the truth come out, take Daisie, and be happy.”
“I am not waiting for dead men’s shoes; and he may live to be an old man.”