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Updated: May 25, 2025
Because I said I'd rather have it than a book, you know," Clarissa lucidly explained, her arms tight about her father's neck, her beaming eyes on Strefford. Nelson Vanderlyn's own eyes took on the look of shrewdness which came into them whenever there was a question of material values. "What, Streffy? Caught you at it, eh? Upon my soul-spoiling the brat like that!
Was it not possible, nay, even likely, that Margaret Pargeter, like many another woman before her, had found her courage fail her at the last moment that Heaven, stooping to her feeble virtue, had come to save her in spite of herself? Vanderlyn's steps unconsciously quickened. They bore him on and on, to the extreme end of the platform.
Vanderlyn's happiness in being, for once, and for nearly twenty-four hours, under the same roof with his wife and child. He did not conceal his regret at having promised his mother to join her the next day; and added, with a wistful glance at Ellie: "If only I'd known you meant to wait for me!"
Even now, as he sat there with the woman he loved wholly in his power, lying in his arms with her face pressed to his breast, Vanderlyn's mind was in a maze of doubt as to what was to be their relationship during the coming days.
"As to her private life, I know nothing of it, but either of my nephews would be able to tell you whatever is known of her, for since that tragic affair our family have always taken a morbid interest in La d'Elphis. Would you like to know something about her now, at once? Shall I send for my nephew?" In answer to Vanderlyn's look, rather than to his muttered assent, Madame de Léra left the room.
"You don't know," she whispered brokenly, "how happy you make me by saying this to-night, Laurence. I have sometimes wondered lately if you cared for me as much as you used to care?" Vanderlyn's dark face contracted with pain; he was no Don Juan, learned in the byways of a woman's heart.
Vanderlyn's letter into the fire: then she came slowly back to the chair. There, at her elbow, lay the four fatal envelopes; and her next affair was to make up her mind what to do with them. To destroy them on the spot had seemed, at first thought, inevitable: it might be saving Ellie as well as herself.
The thought that this might be so made Vanderlyn's heart quail with anguish and horror, and yet, if such a thing were within the bounds of possibility, had he not better go to the Morgue alone and now, rather than later in the company of Tom Pargeter?
Vanderlyn's distraught imagination saw something sinister in the profound quietude of the place; it was full of shuttered villas, for through the winter each village in the neighbourhood of Paris hibernates, those whom the peasants style les bourgeois still regarding country life as essentially a summer pastime. They now came to a high blank wall, broken by an iron gate.
These hours with you here in these rooms which you say are 'poor' are far, far pleasanter to me than any hours at Mrs. Vanderlyn's." "Ah, so," said he. "Yes, you come back to me and we are happy very happy. It is my good luck much better than I really deserve. Come, now, come. A little cake, a little wine, in honor of your visit. M'riar, M'riar where have you gone, M'riar?"
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