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Updated: June 9, 2025
"It is you!" She approached slowly, her terrified eyes riveted on the hidden face. "It is I. Lock the door." She obeyed, she came nearer. He drew away the scarf, lifted the hat, and showed her the face of Sir Victor Catheron. The morning dawned over Powyss Place dawned in wild wind and driving rain still dawned upon Edith, deserted more strangely than surely bride was ever deserted before.
They took her to Torquay in the second week of July. A pretty little villa near Hesketh Crescent had been hired; four servants from Powyss Place preceded them; Sir Victor escorted them, and saw them duly installed. He returned again partly because the work going on at Catheron Royals needed his presence, partly because Lady Helena gravely and earnestly urged it.
Lady Helena Powyss would "take Lady Catheron up." "She's pretty, and gentle, and good, and a lady if ever I saw one," she said to Inez Catheron; "and she doesn't look too happy. Don't be too hard on her, my dear it isn't her fault. Victor is to blame. No one feels that more than I. But not that blue-eyed child try to forgive her Inez, my love. A little kindness will go a long way there."
It was about three in the afternoon when the fly from the railway drove up to the stately portico entrance of Powyss Place. She paid and dismissed the man, and knocked unthinkingly. The servant who opened the door fell back, staring at her, as though she had been a ghost. "Is Lady Helena at home?" Lady Helena was at home and still the man stared blankly as he made the reply.
Old shoes in a shower are flung after them; ladies wave their handkerchiefs, gentlemen call good-by. She leans forward and waves her gray-gloved hand in return the cloudless smile on the beautiful face to the last. So they see her as not one of all who stand there will ever see her on earth again. The house, the wedding-guests are out of sight the carriage rolls through the gates of Powyss Place.
And three days after the triad returned together to Powyss Place, to part, as he whispered, no more. It was the middle of August now. In spite of Edith's protest, grand preparations were being made for the wedding a magnificent trousseau having been ordered.
"It all begins," Sir Victor's faint, low voice said, "with the night of my father's death, three weeks before our wedding-day. That night I learned the secret of my mother's murder, and learned to pity my unhappy father as I had never pitied him before. Do you remember, Edith, the words you spoke to Lady Helena the day before you ran away from Powyss Place?
He did not know no one knew. Since that dark, cold autumn morning when she had fled from Powyss Place she had never been seen or heard of. She had kept her word she had taken nothing that was his not a farthing. Wherever she was, she might be starving to-day. He clenched his hands and teeth as he thought of it.
Sir Victor took the next train from Wales to London; she remained overnight. Next day she had the audacity to return to Powyss Place and present herself to his aunt, Lady Helena Powyss. She remained there one day and two nights.
But of course he won't. I'm always an unlucky beggar. You may write me on board the Three Bells, at Martinique, and let me know how things go on in England. A flush a deep angry flush reddened the face of Lady Helena Powyss, as she finished this cool epistle. She crushed it in her hand as though it were a viper. "The coward! the dastard!
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