“I am mad, Lady Lundie. You bear with mad people. Bear with me. I have been hardly more than a fortnight married. I love him—I love her—with all my heart. Remember what you have told me about them. Remember! remember! remember!”
She reiterated the words with a low cry of pain. Her hands went up to her head again; and she returned restlessly to pacing this way and that in the room.
Lady Lundie tried the effect of a gentle remonstrance. “For your own sake,” she said, “don’t persist in estranging yourself from me. In this dreadful trial, I am the only friend you have.”
Blanche came back to her step-mother’s chair; and looked at her steadily, in silence. Lady Lundie submitted to inspection—and bore it perfectly.
“Look into my heart,” she said. “Blanche! it bleeds for you!”
Blanche heard, without heeding. Her mind was painfully intent on its own thoughts. “You are a religious woman,” she said, abruptly. “Will you swear on your Bible, that what you told me is true?”
“My Bible!” repeated Lady Lundie with sorrowful emphasis. “Oh, my child! have you no part in that precious inheritance? Is it not your Bible, too?”
A momentary triumph showed itself in Blanche’s face. “You daren’t swear it!” she said. “That’s enough for me!”
She turned away scornfully. Lady Lundie caught her by the hand, and drew her sharply back. The suffering saint disappeared, and the woman who was no longer to be trifled with took her place.
“There must be an end to this,” she said. “You don’t believe what I have told you. Have you courage enough to put it to the test?”