Groping dizzily among her recollections of that Christmas night,
there gleamed luridly upon her the vision of Mrs. Aylett's strange
smile, as she said, "It may be that his wife, if she were cognizant
of his condition, would not lift a finger or take a step to save his
life, or to prolong it for an hour!"
Then, in response to Mabel's indignant reply--the momentary passion
darting from her hitherto languorous orbs, and vibrating in her
accents, in adding--"There are women in whose hearts the monument
to departed affection is a hatred that can never die."
If this man were a stranger, from whom she had nothing to fear, why
her extraordinary agitation at seeing him, even imperfectly, through
the window? She must have known him well to recognize him in the
darkness and at that fleeting glimpse. Perhaps she had believed him
dead, until then! This would account for her clandestine visit to
his chamber, to which Mrs. Sutton and her niece had gone, without
effort at concealment; explain the rigid examination of his clothing
ensuing upon her scrutiny of his features.
"I must be mad!" Mabel said, here, pressing her hand to her head.
"There does not live the woman, however wicked and hypocritical, who
could sit at ease in the midst of ill-gotten luxury, on an inclement
night, and talk smilingly of other things, if she suspected that one
she had known, much less loved, lay dying in wretchedness and
solitude so near her."
The vagrant was some evil-disposed spy, whose person Clara knew, and
whose intentions she had reason to dread were unfriendly. Had she
dared--for she was daring--to attempt this nefarious plot against
the fair fame and happiness of an honorable gentleman, her family
would not have become her accomplices. They could not have blinded
themselves to the perils of the enterprise, the extreme
probabilities of detection, the consequences of Winston's anger.
Herbert, at least, would have forbidden the unlawful deceit. When
his sister was wedded to Winston, he believed that her first husband
was no longer in the land of the living--as she must also have done.
"For he is a good--an upright man!" thought the wife. "But he was
privy to the fact of her previous marriage! Why have I never heard
of it? He has invariably spoken of Clara as having lived single in
her mother's house up to the date of her union with my brother."
She could not but remember, likewise, that there was a certain tone
about the Dorrance connection she had never quite comprehended or
liked--a reticence with respect to details of family history, while
they were voluble upon generalities, over-fond of lauding one
another's exploits, virtues, and accomplishments; referring in
wonderful pride to "our beloved father," and extolling "our precious
mother," who, by the way, was so little in request among the
children, that she had, since Clara's marriage, occupied apartments
in a second-rate boarding-house in Boston. Mabel, when convinced of
the futility of her hope of having Aunt Rachel with her, had
proposed to offer Mrs. Dorrance a house in the commodious mansion of
her youngest son; but Herbert, with no show of gratification at what
he must have known was a sacrifice of her inclinations, had coolly
reasoned down the suggestion. The whole tribe--if she excepted her
husband, and perhaps Clara--had, to her perception, a tinge of
Bohemianism, although all were in comfortable circumstances, and
lived showily. Mabel had often chided herself for uncharitable
judgment and groundless prejudice, in admitting these impressions of
her relatives-in-law; but they returned upon her in this twilight
reverie with the force of convictions she was, each moment, less
able to combat. What darker secret lay back of the concealment her
rectitude of principle and sense of justice declared to be
unjustifiable? and might not this concerted and persistent reserve
imply others yet more culpable?