"I will do it at once," he muttered, resolutely. "Delays are dangerous; and, besides, I shall be in a fever of impatience for the answer. How terrible it will be to wait for it! Two whole weeks—fourteen endless days—before I can hope to hear from her in reply! I will write to her at once—write to Serena Lynne—and confess all, and beg her to release me. It was an absurd engagement at best—a wrong—a wicked engagement, for I do not love her; I have never cared for her! I shall never care for her, though I live to be one hundred. Love! Good heavens! the very idea in connection with her is ridiculous, grotesque! Once broken off, the engagement will soon fade from her memory, and she will turn her attention to some more suitable and worthy object than your humble servant. She will not—dare not—refuse to release me!" he cried, softly, an awful thought crossing his heart like a cold, slimy serpent. "She would not be a woman, with a woman's heart, if she refuses to grant it."
Alas, poor Keith! He did not know—he did not realize—that when a woman like Serena Lynne loves, her heart hardens against all other women—the very love in her heart crystallizes. She will fight for that love, sin for it, die for it, but she will never give it up—never—while she lives.
[CHAPTER XI.]
SERENA'S FIRST LOVE LETTER.
For the first time in her life Serena Lynne was triumphant with the knowledge of a victory won. She had begun to despair; the prospect of ever winning Keith Kenyon had been growing "small by degrees and beautifully less," now flickering up in a wild spasmodic hope of success, then sinking down below zero once more.
When she had discovered his evident—too evident—interest in Beatrix, the woman's heart had swelled with bitter indignation and resentment, and for a time it had seemed to Serena Lynne that there was no alternative but to die and escape it all. The anguish was unendurable; for with all the strength of her selfish nature she loved Keith Kenyon, and the very thought of giving up all hope of winning him was more bitter than death.
But at last she had succeeded—not in winning his love—but himself. There was a vast difference; but Serena did not pause to reflect upon that point. She had made up her mind to marry Keith Kenyon; the sooner the marriage was over with, and he was hers until death should part them, the better for her. She sought her mother after the momentous interview with Keith, a look of excitement and delight upon her face, her pale eyes flashing with rapture. Mrs. Lynne glanced up from the work upon which she was engaged, and a look of inquiry flashed into her eyes.
"Well, Serena, has anything remarkable occurred?" she asked tersely.