Her answer, under the presure of the warring emotions, was a
semitone lower, and less distinctly enunciated than those that had
gone before it.
"The denouement you propose for your romance is impracticable.
Julius Lennox died before the date of the second marriage."
Herbert drew himself to a sitting posture by clutching the back of
the lounge. His red eyes and tumbled hair made him look more like a
mad than a sick man.
"In the name of Heaven," he demanded hoarsely, "have we not had
enough lies, every one of which has been a blunder, and a fatal one?
I told you, years ago, that the scene of this evening was a mere
question of time; that, without a miracle, an edifice founded upon
iniquity and cemented by falsehood must crush you before you could
lay the top-stone. You would not be warned--you held on your way
without hesitation or compunction, and now you would add to sin
fatuity. Do you suppose that after what your husband has learned of
your untruthfulness he will accept your assertion on any subject
without inquiry? And, how many in your own family and out of
it--although these may not know you by the name you now bear--are
cognizant of the fact that Julius Lennox was alive for almost
fifteen months after you became Mrs. Aylett?"
Mabel's arm was about his neck, her hand upon his mouth.
"No more! no more! if you love me!" she whispered in an agony.
"Should he guess all, he would murder her!"
"You are prepared to certify that he is dead NOW, are you, Mr.
Dorrance?" queried Winston, suspicious of this by-play.
"I am!" sulkily.
"It is a pity!" was the ambiguous rejoinder.
Something clicked upon the hearth. It was the fragments of the toy
stiletto, broken by an uncontrollable twitch of the small fingers
that held it.
Then Mrs. Aylett arose, pale as a ghost, but unquailing in eye or
mien.
"May I know your lordship's pleasure respecting your cast-off
minion?"
"In the morning, yes!" glancing up disdainfully. "Meantime, let me
wish you 'good-night' and happy dreams."