Good God! she had kissed Keith's lips over and over. What if—what if she had transmitted the curse to him? Better for her to die than to bring this horrible curse upon the man she loved!
She knew now, at last, the reason for her own isolation in Bernard Dane's house. She must not mix too intimately with other uncursed people, or they, too, would become accursed.
Slowly, wearily, she arose to her feet and lighted the lamp in her room. Then she went over to the mirror and stood gazing upon her own face, her eyes full of bitter woe. She could see no change there as yet. The pearly skin was as fair and lovely as ever, the beautiful dark eyes just as bright. She held up one little hand and let the lamp-light gleam across it. It was fair, and soft, and untainted. Yet all the same the evil might lurk unseen, like a poisonous serpent, in her blood, and when it became known it would be too late—too late! And—oh, God in Heaven! was there ever such a fate?—she was Keith Kenyon's wedded wife. She had cursed his life; she had brought ruin black and sure upon him; all his future happiness was wrecked and destroyed.
"God pity me, I am lost—lost!" she moaned, bleakly. And then with a low cry of anguish, the slight form tottering weakly, she fell to the floor like one dead.
[CHAPTER XX.]
WORSE THAN DEATH.
Hours passed before Beatrix Dane returned to consciousness and a realization of the truth. She lifted her head and sat staring into the darkness, trying to comprehend this awful thing that had come upon her with all the force and harshness of a blow.
"Oh, my God! what am I?" she groaned, in her bitter anguish; "accursed! accursed!"