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"You can ask nothing impertinent, Mr. Castrani," she replied, earnestly. "Thank you. I do not intend to. Are you betrothed to Archer Trevlyn?" She grew very pale, but her eyes met his fearlessly. "I was once. But it is all over, now," with a dreary sigh, that was like the breath of the autumn wind through the dead leaves. "Before you left New York was it over before that?"
It's a bore to be hurried. Where was he checked to?" "Well, really, the name of the place has escaped me. Some little town in New Hampshire or Maine, I think. We do so much of this business that my memory is treacherous about such things." "Were you speaking of Castrani?" asked Tom Clifford, a friend of Archer's removing his cigar from his mouth. "Deuced fine fellow!
A ghastly pallor overspread her face; she caught her breath in gasps, and clutched frantically the arm of Castrani. "Hush!" she said. "Do not say those dreadful words aloud; the very walls have ears sometimes! Remember their utterance puts the life of a fellow mortal in peril!" "Have no fear; I am going to right the wrong." "Leave this punishment to God.
"Miss Harrison, why will you press me further? Your friends are all well." "I know. But there is something behind that. Tell it to me at once." "I cannot indeed, I cannot! You must hear it from some other lips. I would rather die, than cause you one single pang of sorrow!" "You are very kind, Mr. Castrani you mean generously but I want to know."
I do not desire that the place of my destination shall be known to any one. But to show you how much I appreciate your kindness, and how entirely I trust you, I will inform you that I am going to Lightfield, in New Hampshire, to stop an indefinite length of time with my old nurse, Mrs. Day." Castrani was visibly affected by this proof of her confidence.
I fled away from the place and knew nothing of the fearful deed done there until the papers announced it the next day." "And I suspected you of the crime! O, Archer! Archer! how could I ever have been so blind? How can you ever forgive me?" "I want forgiveness, Margie. I doubted you. I thought you were false to me, and had fled with Castrani. That unfortunate glove confirmed you, I suppose.
But he forbore to question her. Margie appreciated his delicacy, and something impelled her to confide to him what she had not entrusted to the descretion of any other person. She owed him this confidence, for his disinterested kindness. "Mr. Castrani," she said, quietly enough, outwardly, "circumstances, of which I cannot speak, have made it necessary for me to leave New York.
Do you know, dear, that it was the knowledge that you wanted me which was sending me home again? A month ago I saw Louis Castrani in Paris. He told me everything. He was delicate enough about it, darling; you need not blush for fear he might have told me you were grieving for me; but he made me understand that my future might not be so dark as I had begun to regard it.
She died in her sweet innocence, loving and beloved died by violence; but she never lived to suffer from the falsity of those she loved! Well, she is in paradise God rest her!" The dark eyes of Castrani grew moist.
Before the apple-trees in the green country valleys were rosy with blossoms, she was to be all his own. He could afford to be generous. Among the train of her admirers was a young Cuban gentleman, Louis Castrani, a man of fascinating presence and great personal beauty. He had been unfortunate in his first love.
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