“And wherefore not?” exclaimed the peasant girl, as she sprang upon her feet, and boldly returned his glance. “Why should not the deceived in turn become deceiver’s?”
“Wretched woman! even had I wronged you, would you wreak vengeance on those who never wished you evil?”
The girl sighed heavily.
“There was a time, Mary, when you would not have betrayed the doomed one to the destroyer, and that victim—me.”
Mary Halligan was deeply affected; she sobbed, and tears, like raindrops, fell fast upon the floor.
“And could a few brief years change that once gentle nature, and so fearfully? Would nothing satisfy revenge, but death for me—insult for my wife?”
“Death—insult!” she repeated. “Neither was intended.”
“Read—‘tis the paper you gave me by mistake.”
Mary Halligan cast her eyes upon the scroll; her lips and checks grew pale; her hand shook violently; the paper dropped upon the floor; and turning her eyes upwards, she exclaimed, “As I was unconscious that such villany was designed, so may Heaven grant me pardon!”
“What brought you here, then?”