Edith's mind had been sadly confused when Nina read to her the
SCRATCHING OUT, and she had forgotten it entirely, but it came
back to her now, and catching up the papers, she recognized
Richard's unmistakable hand-writing. He knew, then, of her love
for Arthur--of the obstacle to that love--of the agony it cost her
to give him up. He had deceived her--had won her under false
pretenses, assuming that she loved no one. She did not think this
of Richard, and in her eyes, usually so soft and mild, there was a
black, hard, terrible expression, as she whispered hoarsely, "How
came this in your possession?"
He told her how--thus exonerating Richard from blame, and the
hard, angry look was drowned in tears as Edith wept aloud.
"Then he don't know it," she said at length, "Richard don't. I
should hate him if he did and still wished me to be his wife."
"I can tell him," was Victor's dry response, and in an instant
Edith was over where he sat.
"You cannot, you must not, you shall not. It will kill him if I
desert him.
Pages:
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404