He took her hand, laid it on his arm, and led her from the room, while she wondered to see her proud husband in that mood, for there was a gentleness about him, mingled with a humility and a deprecatory air, that was entirely foreign to him.
Not a word was spoken by either as they passed down the grand staircase. Colonel Mapleson was too absorbed in the painful duty before him, while “coming events” seemed already to have “cast their shadows” upon the handsome face and proud spirit of his wife.
A painful expression almost convulsed Colonel Mapleson’s face as he paused irresolutely a moment before the library door.
But his hesitation was only for an instant.
The next he turned the handle, led his wife within the room, when he closed and locked the door to insure freedom from interruption.
Then he led his companion straight to August Huntress.
“Mr. Huntress, allow me to present to you my wife, Mrs. Mapleson,” he said by way of introduction.
The lady glanced into the gentleman’s face. Instantly her own froze into a look of horror; a shock went quivering through her frame like the blow of an ax upon a tree. She started wildly back from him, her eyes diluted, her lips apart.
“August Damon!” she gasped, and sank fainting to the floor.