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Updated: June 20, 2025
"You will know one day," answered Lady Helena; "on his death-bed; and, poor fellow, the sooner that day comes the better for him." Edith made an impatient gesture. "Let us talk about it no more. What is done is done. Whether Sir Victor Catheron lives or dies can in no way concern me now. I think, with your permission, I will go back to my room and try to sleep away this dismal day."
Edith, the long and short of the matter is this: I shall break my heart and die if he doesn't make me Lady Catheron." A faint, half-absent smile no other reply from Miss Darrell. In the handsome reception-room of the Stuart mansion, the two girls sat. It was half-past three in the afternoon, of the day succeeding the ball.
We have an unoccupied seat here, you see, and we all insist upon your occupying it. Miss Howard, let me present our nearest neighbor at home, and particular friend everywhere, Sir Victor Catheron. The Honorable Miss Howard, Sir Victor." They had drawn up close to the curbstone. The gentleman had doffed his hat, and would have passed on, had he not been taken possession of in this summary manner.
And yet, even you might pity the poor fellow to-day, Gwendoline, if you saw him. Mary, dear, is all this Greek and Hebrew to you? You were in your Parisian pensionnat, I remember, when it all happened. You don't know the romantic and mysterious story of Sir Victor Catheron, Bart." "I never heard the name before, that I recall," answered Miss Howard. "Then pine in ignorance no longer.
It can never be. I can never marry you. I am married already!" The blow has fallen the horrible, brutal blow. She stands looking at him she hardly seems to comprehend. There is a pause the firelight flickers, they hear the rain lashing the windows, the soughing of the gale in the trees. Then Victor Catheron bursts forth: "I don't ask you to forgive me it is past all that.
He had not left Chesholm; he was lurking in the neighborhood of the Royals, and she knew it. She knew it. How many times had they met before his wife and the man he abhorred the man who claimed her as his wife. What if she were his wife? What if that plight pledged in the Scotch kirk were binding? She had loved Juan Catheron then. What if she loved him still?
"A wife and a son," she says, slowly and distinctly. "Sir Victor Catheron, fetch them home; I shall be glad to see them." In a very genteel lodging-house, in the very genteel neighborhood of Russell Square, early in the afternoon of a September day, a young girl stands impatiently awaiting the return of Sir Victor Catheron. This girl is his wife.
And I must own it would make a difference. I have told you I am not in love with you as yet you have elected to take me and wait for that. I tell you now truthfully, if you were not Sir Victor Catheron, I would not marry you. It is best I should be honest, best I should not deceive you.
Half an hour had passed since she left; it struck the half hour after eight as she descended the stairs. "I'm sore afraid my lady will catch cold sleeping in the night air. I do think now I ought to go in and wake her." While she stood hesitating before it, the door opened suddenly and Miss Catheron came out. She was very pale.
We are all sinners; as you hope for pity and mercy, have pity and mercy on him now." With her hand on the door, with Inez Catheron clinging to her dress, she paused, moved, distressed, softened in spite of herself. "Get up, Miss Catheron," she said, "you must not kneel to me. What is it you want? what is it you ask me to do?" "I ask you to give up this life of toil to come home with me.
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