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?




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