"Go on," cries she, "your word of honor. I will believe you--it is possible that you speak the truth. My mother suppressed your confession, good; but every glance and word of mine during our engagement must have convinced you that she had suppressed it. You cannot answer that to your conscience," she hissed.
To that he replies nothing, but sits there motionless and silent. She wishes to force him to proclaim his shame by an outcry, a gesture of supplication. "I have borne a branded name for five years--I have brought into the world a branded child," says she quickly and distinctly, her eyes resting intently upon him.
At length he shudders; he looks at her with a glance which pleases her, it shows such fearful misery--her eyes sparkle. "And all for the sake of a Juanita!" she cries again scornfully, and leaves the room.
She rushes down stairs breathlessly; there in the large drawing-room stands the picture, the package of letters lies on a table. Tears of rage rush to Linda's eyes. She pulls the bell sharply. "Take that picture away!" she commands the servant who appears.
She would like to declare to the servant that she knew nothing of the Lanzberg disgrace when she married a Lanzberg.
XXIV.
"All for the sake of a Juanita!" That was the most biting remark Linda had made, was what made Felix feel most keenly his degradation.
He had heard of people who sinned for a good object, who had forged their fathers' names from generous precipitancy to save the honor of a friend, with the ideal conviction that the father himself must declare that he was satisfied with the wrong action on account of the unfortunate complications. But he? No false idea of sacrifice, no desire for martyrdom had confused him; as the cause of his action he found nothing but egoism and search for enjoyment, a brutal passion for an unworthy woman.
The explanation of his act lay in the hot-blooded temperament of a thoroughly spoiled and indulged man, whose first ungratified wish robs him of his senses--the excuse of his act lay nowhere. He also had never sought it, and had never for one instant forgiven himself, but all these years, wherever he went, had dragged about with him the consciousness of his degradation.
It had weighed so heavily upon him that this in itself had prevented every moral elevation in him.