And so I hoped and waited for her and Guy, and wondered I did not hear
from him, and felt so glad and happy when I received the telegram,
"Shall be home to-night." It was a bright day in May, but the evening
set in cool, with a feeling of rain in the air, and I had a fire kindled
in the parlor and in Daisy's room, for I remembered how she used to
crouch on the rug before the grate and watch the blaze floating up the
chimney with all the eagerness of a child. Then, although it hurt me
sorely, I went to Simpson, who bought our carriage, and asked that it
might be sent to the station so that Daisy should not feel the
difference at once. And Jerry, our old coachman, went with it and waited
there just as Julia and I waited at home, for Julia had promised to stay
a few weeks and see what Daisy was like.
The train was late that night, an hour behind time, and the spring rain
was falling outside and the gas was lighted within when I heard the
sound of wheels stopping at the door and went to meet my brother. But
only my brother. There was no Daisy with him. He came in alone, with
such an awful look on his white face as made me cry out with alarm.
"What it is, Guy, and where is Daisy?" I asked, as he staggered against
the banister, where he leaned heavily.
He did not answer my question, but said, "Take me to my room," in a
voice I would never have known for Guy's. I took him to his room, made
him lie down, and brought him a glass of wine, and then, when he was
strong enough to tell it, listened to the shameful story, and felt that
henceforth and forever I must and would hate the woman who had wounded
my Guy so cruelly.
And still there is some good in her--some sense of right and wrong, as
was shown by a strange thing which happened when Guy was at the worst of
the terrible fever which followed his coming home. I watched him day and
night, I would not even let Julia Hamilton share my vigils, and one
night when I was worn out with fatigue and anxiety I fell asleep upon
the lounge, where I threw myself for a moment. How long I slept I never
knew, but it must have been an hour or more, for the last thing I
remember was hearing the whistle of the Western train and the sighing of
the wind, which sounded like rain, and when I awoke the rain was falling
heavily and the clock was striking twelve, which was an hour after the
train was due. It was very quiet in the room, and darker than usual, for
someone had shaded the lamp from my eyes as well as Guy's so that at
first I did not see distinctly, but I had an impression that there was a
figure sitting by Guy near the bed. Julia, most likely, I thought, and I
called her by name, feeling my blood curdle in my veins and my heart
stand still with something like fear when a voice I knew so well and
never expected to hear again, answered softly: "It is not Julia. It's me!"