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Updated: May 16, 2025
I want to watch your face, as I go on, and see if you condemn me. You are sure God is more merciful than man?" "In His word it is written, Arabel." She kissed an ivory cross lying on her bosom, and proceeded with evident difficulty. "Well, I fled with Paul Linmere. For a time I was very happy. He was kind to me, and I loved him so!
True, her wealth would have counter-balanced any degree of personal deformity; but Mr. Paul Linmere admired beauty, and liked to have pretty things around him. To tell the truth, he was sadly in need of money. It was fortunate that his old friend, Mr. Harrison, Margie's dead father, had taken it into his head to plight his daughter's troth to him while she was yet a child. Mr.
The bride was so beautiful and wealthy, and so insensible to her good fortune in securing the most eligible man in her set. Half the ladies in the city were in love with Mr. Linmere. He was so distingue, carried himself so loftily, and yet was so gallantly condescending, and so inimitably fascinating.
They were rough people, but they were kind-hearted, and I owe them a large debt of gratitude for their thoughtful care of me. But for it, I should have died in reality. As soon as I was able to bear the journey, I left France. Linmere had already closed the cottage and gone away none knew whither; but I was satisfied he had departed for the United States.
Linmere turned up the gas into a flare, and, throwing off his coat, flung himself into an arm-chair, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He looked about the room with half-frightened, searching eyes. He dreaded solitude, and he feared company, yet felt the necessity of speaking to something. His eyes lighted on the greyhound dozing on the hearth-rug.
"That you would try! Yes. And that was equal to giving an unqualified assent. You know the conditions of the will, I believe?" "I do. If I marry without your consent under the age of twenty-one, I forfeit my patrimony. And I am nineteen now. And I shall not marry without your consent." "Margie, you must marry Mr. Linmere. Do not hope to do differently. It is your duty.
The figure lifted a spectral white hand. "Paul Linmere beware! The vengeance of the dead reaches sometimes unto the living! There is not water enough in the Seine to drown a woman's hatred! Death itself cannot annihilate it! Beware!" He struck savagely at the uplifted hand, but his arm met no resistance. He beat only against the impalpable air.
There was a dewy crimson on her lips, and her cheeks were red as damask roses. A bright, happy face, upon which no blight had fallen. "She was beautiful beautiful as an houri!" said Mr. Paul Linmere, speaking slowly, half unconsciously, it seemed, his thoughts aloud. "And when I first knew her she was sweet and innocent. I made her sin. I led her into the temptation she was too weak to resist.
"Leo, Leo," he called, "come here, sir!" The dog opened his eyes, but gave no responsive wag of his tail. You saw at once that though Leo was Mr. Paul Linmere's property, and lived with him, he did not have any attachment for him. "Come here, sir!" said Linmere, authoritatively. Still the animal did not stir.
Linmere, piqued and irritated, took up his hat to leave, in the midst of one of Miss Lee's most brilliant descriptions of what she had seen in Italy, from whence she had just returned. He went over to the sofa where Margie was sitting. "I hope to please you better next time," he said, lifting her hand. "Good-night, Margie dear." And before she was aware, he touched his lips to her forehead.
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