“Yes, if you please.”
“Report says that when quite young she fell in love with her own cousin and became engaged to him. This was a secret between them, since the lover was not in a position to marry. He went to sea to seek his fortune, as the story goes, and not long after was reported lost. Miss Sylvester, to hide her grief, immediately plunged into all sorts of gayety and dissipation, and only a few months after her lover’s death met a young American, who was instantly attracted by her great beauty. He soon made her an offer of marriage, and, after a very short courtship, they were married. A year later the former lover suddenly turned up—he was not lost, though had been nearly drowned, and afterward lay a long time in a fever. The young wife, in her joy at seeing him once more, thoughtlessly betrayed her love for him, which even then was not dead. The husband grew furious and unreasonably jealous, charged her with wilfully deceiving him, and a hot and angry scene followed. The next day the wife was missing—‘she had fled,’ those who knew anything of the circumstances said, ‘with her early lover.’ She returned almost immediately, however, humbled and repentant; but her husband denounced her, although she swore that she had committed no wrong. He returned to America; she hid herself broken-hearted for awhile, but finally sought her brother, whom she convinced of her chastity, since which time, having no other friends, they have seemed to live for each other. She would never consent to be called by her husband’s name after that—though I never heard what that was—but took her maiden name. She is a wonderful woman, however; her life has been devoted to doing good; she is chastity itself, and is beloved by everybody who knows her, while her sympathy for the erring is boundless. That is an outline of her history, or as much as I know of it; but I believe there are some self-righteous people who shun her on account of what they term her ‘early sin,’ but the majority revere her, while I must confess to a feeling of great admiration for her.”
“What became of the young lover with whom it was supposed she fled?” Editha asked, deeply interested in the sad tale.
“I do not know—I never heard. Madam never speaks of her past, and that is a mystery to the curious.”
“I should like to know her,” Editha said, feeling strangely drawn toward one who, like herself, had suffered so much.
“Would you? That is easily managed. I will ascertain where she is stopping, call upon her, and, as her heart is always touched for the sick, I know she will gladly come and see you,” Mr. Tressalia said, eagerly, exceedingly pleased to have Editha manifest so much interest in his friend.
“Thank you. I should like it if she would; her history is very sad, and her face attracts me strangely,” she replied.
Three days afterwards they were in the Redwood Library, examining some of the valuable manuscripts on exhibition there, when Madam Sylvester and her brother entered.
Mr. Tressalia had tried to ascertain where they were stopping, but, to his great disappointment, he had failed to do so.
He now went forward at once to greet them, and they seemed very much pleased to renew their acquaintance with him.