Poor Romaine had grown as pallid as the flowers that trembled and dropped one by one from her nerveless hands.
"Answer me!" repeated Mrs. Drummond; "I am his mother, and I will not be satisfied with any white-lipped silence. What have you done with my son? Where is he?"
"I—I do not know."
Most hearts would have been touched by the pitiful innocence of those words and look.
"You do not know. I will believe you so far; but why has he left his home—and me?"
"How can I tell?" faltered the girl.
"I can imagine you experience some difficulty," was the harsh reply, "but I mean to remove all obstacles from your path so that you can tell, and also give me a coherent account. He had entrusted his happiness to your keeping; he had divided his love for me with you. What account have you to give of your stewardship?"
The helpless attitude of the girl coupled with her wild-eyed silence, seemed to infuriate the lady.
"No wonder you do not dare to raise your voice to answer me," she cried shrilly; "faithless, false-hearted girl! You have wrecked his life! And when the news of your ill-assorted marriage reaches him, it will kill him, and I shall not survive his death! Jezebel!" she hissed, griping Romaine's arm in her gloved claw, "do you comprehend that two lives, two God-given lives will be upon your soul when you have consummated this unholy deed? I would die for my son. I would even be branded with crime for the sake of his peace and happiness! I love him! And what has your vaunted love amounted to? Answer me, or I will smite that mutely-mocking mouth of yours! Have you not told him a thousand times, have you not assured him by word, by deed, by action that you loved him? Answer me!"
"Yes," came the gasping reply.