Then, as Sir George shrugged his shoulders pityingly, she leant forward eagerly, and demanded in quick, spasmodic gasps:—
‘Who is the woman who wrongs my rights? Who is the creature who has filled you with this falsehood? Who is she? Tell me!’
‘She is at present passing under the name of Montmorency, and is, I believe, an actress.’
As he spoke, there came suddenly in Alma’s remembrance the vivid picture of the woman whom she had seen talking with the clergyman in the vestry, and simultaneously she was conscious of the sickly odour of scent which had surrounded her like a fume of poison. Alma grew faint. Some terrible and foreboding presence seemed overpowering her. She thought of the painted face, the shameless dress and bearing of the strange woman, of Bradley’s peculiar air of nervous uneasiness, of the thrill of dislike and repulsion which had run momentarily through her own frame as she left them together. Overcome by an indescribable and sickening horror, she put her hand to her forehead, tottered, and seemed about to fall.
Solicitous and alarmed, the baronet once more approached her as if to support her. But before he could touch her she had shrunk shuddering away.
Weak and terrified now, she uttered a despairing moan.
‘Oh! why did you come here to tell me this?’ she cried. ‘Why did you come here to break my heart and wreck my life? If you had had any pity or care for me, you would have spared me; you would have left me to discover my misery for myself, Go now, go; you have done all you can. I shall soon know for myself whether your cruel tale is false or true.’
‘It is true,’ said Sir George. ‘Do not be unjust, my child. We could not, knowing what we did, suffer you to remain at the mercy of that man. Now, be advised. Leave the affair to us, who are devoted to you; we will see that you are justified, and that the true culprit is punished as he deserves.’
And the two men made a movement towards the door.
‘Stop!’ cried Alma. ‘What do you intend to do?’