“Since there was no sweet baby smile to woo and win the hearts of these two, Owen and Leonie Hunter daily drifted farther and farther apart, neither caring, or little caring, what the other was doing. His millions were at her command wherewith to satisfy her every whim, and this wealth enabled her to worship at the shrine of fashion, to her heart’s content. Their ‘home’ was a mansion; one of the most beautiful of homes but Owen Hunter only went to it to sleep, and not always then. Sometimes home did not see him for weeks at a time. The clubs suited him better than the princely mansion which contained his dark-browed wife. His wedded experience had made him reckless, and he made the most of what his wealth would buy him. He was not by nature bad; not by any means. He was only what circumstances had made him. Deep down hidden in the innermost recesses of his being were the germs of a noble manhood, but those germs were fast going to decay for want of the magic touch which would waken them to life and growth. Sometimes he felt heart-sick and soul-weary when he realized that with all the wealth at his command there was none so poor as he; that his bosom bore a starving heart. In all the vast multitudes of the great city there was not one face to brighten at his coming, to smile a welcome at his return to the place he called home.
“In a mood like this, one evening as he was passing a deserted thoroughfare he was attracted by a woman’s cry. A woman was struggling in the grasp of a man. A well directed blow felled the ruffian to the earth while the rescuer caught an almost fainting girl in his arms.
“That was the way in which I became acquainted with Owen Hunter. He offered to see me to my home. I told him I had none. He seemed to understand it all in a moment, and afterwards he told me that he did so understand. A young woman whose condition was so apparent, and no home, could have only one story to tell,—a very common story, and at that moment he felt, as he afterwards explained, just as forlorn and alone, just as hopeless and homeless. It was as if I had touched a hidden wellspring. He drew my arm through his and said:
“‘Come.’
“I was trembling in every nerve. The terror I had undergone almost paralyzed me. He saw I was almost unable to stand.”
“‘Will you trust me?’
“One look into the clear eyes told me that it would be safe, and I only nodded my head. I could not trust myself to speak. I hardly knew how it happened, but in a few moments more I found myself seated in a closed carriage, and that night I slept safely housed, with a little confidence in mankind restored.
“You know the rest. I told you the story yesterday; of how he came to love me and I him, until our love glorified our lives. Never until the darkly passionate woman stood before me did I know that another had a stronger claim upon him than I. He did not know through what chance she had become possessed of his secret. He felt sure she cared little, only it gave her a chance to empty the poison vials of her temper and spleen in a manner that she was conscious would strike me in a vital spot.
“‘She thinks to part us, loved one,’ he said, ‘but she shall not succeed. I will not sacrifice the only bright spot that makes my life worth living. You, my darling, have redeemed me. You have taught me the bliss of the love of a true woman. You have made a new being of me, and to you I belong; while you are mine by the might and power of that holy love that you bear me.’
“O, Imelda, forbear to judge me from the high pinnacle of morality and purity upon which I know you stand. Although I had made up my mind to disappear out of his life—that he should not know what had become of me,—but this one last night I wanted to be happy, happy in the present hour and in the feeling that he was mine and I his. I would not think of the morrow and what it would bring. I only gave myself up to the hour and to my love, and when the bright sun of another day had risen he still held me so closely in his arms that it seemed he meant never to release me.