"And she--what did she say? How did she bear it?" asked Jean, feeling
in her own woman's heart how deeply Lucia's must have been wounded by
that avowal.
"Poor girl! It was hard to bear, but her pride sustained her to the end.
She owned that no pledge tied me, fully relinquished any claim my past
behavior had seemed to have given her, and prayed that I might find
another woman to love me as truly, tenderly as she had done. Jean, I
felt like a villain; and yet I never plighted my word to her, never
really loved her, and had a perfect right to leave her, if I would."
"Did she speak of me?"
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"Must I tell you?"
"Yes, tell me everything. I know she hates me and I forgive her, knowing
that I should hate any woman whom you loved."
"Are you jealous, dear?"
"Of you, Gerald?" And the fine eyes glanced up at him, full of a
brilliancy that looked like the light of love.
"You make a slave of me already. How do you do it? I never obeyed a
woman before. Jean, I think you are a witch. Scotland is the home of
weird, uncanny creatures, who take lovely shapes for the bedevilment of
poor weak souls. Are you one of those fair deceivers?"
"You are complimentary," laughed the girl. "I am a witch, and one
day my disguise will drop away and you will see me as I am, old, ugly,
bad and lost. Beware of me in time. I've warned you. Now love me at
your peril."
Coventry had paused as he spoke, and eyed her with an unquiet look,
conscious of some fascination which conquered yet brought no happiness.
A feverish yet pleasurable excitement possessed him; a reckless mood,
making him eager to obliterate the past by any rash act, any new
experience which his passion brought. Jean regarded him with a wistful,
almost woeful face, for one short moment; then a strange smile broke
over it, as she spoke in a tone of malicious mockery, under which lurked
the bitterness of a sad truth. Coventry looked half bewildered, and his
eye went from the girl's mysterious face to a dimly lighted window,
behind whose curtains poor Lucia hid her aching heart, praying for him
the tender prayers that loving women give to those whose sins are all
forgiven for love's sake. His heart smote him, and a momentary feeling
of repulsion came over him, as he looked at Jean. She saw it, felt
angry, yet conscious of a sense of relief; for now that her own safety
was so nearly secured, she felt no wish to do mischief, but rather a
desire to undo what was already done, and be at peace with all the
world. To recall him to his allegiance, she sighed and walked on, saying
gently yet coldly, "Will you tell me what I ask before I answer your
question, Mr. Coventry?"