Mrs. Marston bit her lips with vexation at having thus thoughtlessly committed herself even in so small a point.
“Yes,” she said, after considering a moment, “she alone knew my secret, and I believed it safe from all the world until I stumbled upon you to-day.”
“It is safe even now,” the physician hastened to assure her. “Believe me, I shall never betray it—you may set your heart wholly at rest upon that point.”
“Thank you—I am very grateful for your past silence, Doctor Turner, and your assurance of future secrecy. I am not a heartless woman, nor devoid of maternal affection,” she went on, her lips quivering painfully. “I could have loved my baby as fondly as any mother ever loved her child, if I had been allowed to open my heart to her; but I could not. I had to steel it against her. I never dared even to allow myself to kiss her until the moment they took her away—for fear that I should begin to love her and refuse to part with her. I cannot tell you why—I can never explain it to any living being. I am hedged—I have always been hedged about by circumstances that made it impossible, and as long as I live I must carry the secret locked within my own heart.”
She stopped for a moment, overcome by the sad memories and emotions which this retrospective glance aroused, while the good doctor felt more genuine sympathy than he had ever experienced for her over that mysterious occurrence so many years ago.
“I will try to be content with what you have told me to-day,” she resumed, presently, “although it was my intention, when I came here, to see for myself how my child had been reared. I am glad to know that she has been tenderly shielded by parental love—that life has been made bright and beautiful for her; may it ever be so, and perhaps, some time, in the great future, where there can be no secrets, I may be allowed to recognize and love the daughter which stern fate decreed I could not have in this life.”
Tears actually arose to the physician’s eyes at this little glimpse of the innermost sanctuary of the beautiful woman’s heart; but he marveled more than ever at the terrible secret which must have well-nigh blighted her early life.
She looked up, caught his sympathetic glance, and was instantly the proud, self-possessed woman of the world again.
“And now, Doctor Turner,” she said, rising and drawing her elegant lace mantle about her shapely shoulders, “I trust we may never meet again. If chance should throw us together in the presence of others, I beg, as a personal favor, that you will not recognize me without a formal introduction.”
“I will not, madame; and for the sake of your peace of mind, I, too, hope that our paths may never again cross,” he replied.