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Updated: June 26, 2025
It was here at Berne that I received an anonymous letter from England, the writer stating that Genevra was with her aunt, that the whole had ended as he thought it would, that he could readily guess at the nature of the trouble, and hinting that if a divorce was desirable on my return to England, all necessary proof could be obtained by applying to such a number in London, the writer announcing himself a brother of the man who had once sought Genevra, and saying he had always opposed the match, knowing Genevra's family.
Softly the baptismal waters fell upon the pale forehead, and at their touch the little Genevra's eyes unclosed, the waxen fingers withdrew themselves from Marian's grasp, and again sought the mother's cheek, resting there for an instant; while a smile broke around the baby lips, which tried to say "Mam-ma."
"Yes, darling, a great deal more," was Wilford's answer, as he kissed her upturned face, and then went for the last time to Genevra's grave; for on the morrow they were to leave the neighborhood of Alnwick for the heather blooms of Scotland.
Get to the guns if possible and cut off the servants' quarters. We must not let them surprise us. Follow me!" There was wisdom in what he said, and Browne was not slow to see it clearly. With a single penetrating glance at Genevra's despairing face, he shook his head gloomily, and turned to follow Deppingham, who was hurrying off through the corridor with her ladyship.
But he wondered what it was that he had seen or felt in her sombre gaze. In fifteen minutes he was sound asleep in his room, his long frame relaxed, his hands wide open in utter fatigue. He dreamed of a Henner girl with Genevra's brilliant face instead of the vague, greenish features that haunt the vision with their subtle mysticism.
Thus walked they in the fragrant garden until Genevra found them and sweet-voiced bid them in to sup. But the Duchess took Genevra's slender hands and looked within her shy, sweet eyes. "Art happy, sweet maid?" she questioned. "O dear my lady, methinks in all this big world is none more happy than thy grateful Genevra."
Wilford said that truly, when that night he bent over his sleeping Katy, comparing her face with Genevra's, and his love for her with his love for Genevra. "That was a boyish fancy, this love of mature years," and Wilford pressed a kiss upon Katy's pure forehead, showing so white in the moonlight.
"At least, if God has not forgiven, he has prospered me, which amounts to the same thing;" and without a single throb of gratitude to Him who had thus prospered him, Wilford laid Genevra's picture and Genevra's note back with the withered grass and flowers plucked from Genevra's grave, and then went again upstairs, just as Katy's ring was heard and Katy herself came in.
"I shall do it," he said, and his lips were pressed firmly together, as before his lonely fire he sat that chill March night, revolving the past and then turning to the future opening so darkly before him, and making him shudder as he thought of what it might bring. "I will spare Katy as much as possible," he said, "for hers is a different nature from Genevra's.
But she could not resist the mute pleading of the eyes lifted so tearfully to her, as if asking for a nod of recognition, and stopping before her she said, softly: "Genevra." That was all, but it made Genevra's tears flow in torrents, and she involuntarily held her hand out to Bell, who took it, and holding it between her own, said: "You were very kind to my brother.
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