I was gloomily meditating upon the tangle of events, when the door of

the salon opened, and Rosa entered. She walked stiffly to a chair,

and, sitting down opposite to me, looked into my face with hard,

glittering eyes. For a few moments she did not speak, and I could not

break the silence. Then I saw the tears slowly welling up, and I was

glad for that. She was intensely moved, and less agonizing experiences

than she had gone through might easily have led to brain fever in a

woman of her highly emotional temperament.

"Why don't you leave me, Mr. Foster?" she cried passionately, and

there were sobs in her voice. "Why don't you leave me, and never see

me again?"

"Leave you?" I said softly. "Why?"

"Because I am cursed. Throughout my life I have been cursed; and the

curse clings, and it falls on those who come near me."

She gave way to hysterical tears; her head bent till it was almost on

her knees. I went to her, and gently raised it, and put a cushion at

the back of the chair. She grew calmer.

"If you are cursed, I will be cursed," I said, gazing straight at her,

and then I sat down again.

The sobbing gradually ceased. She dried her eyes.

"He is dead," she said shortly.

I made no response; I had none to make.

"You do not say anything," she murmured.

"I am sorry. Sir Cyril was the right sort."

"He was my father," she said.

"Your father!" I repeated. No revelation could have more profoundly

astonished me.

"Yes," she firmly repeated.

We both paused.

"I thought you had lost both parents," I said at length, rather

lamely.

"Till lately I thought so too. Listen. I will tell you the tale of all

my life. Not until to-night have I been able to put it together, and

fill in the blanks."

And this is what she told me: "My father was travelling through Europe. He had money, and of course

he met with adventures. One of his adventures was my mother. She lived

among the vines near Avignon, in Southern France; her uncle was a

small grape-grower. She belonged absolutely to the people, but she was

extremely beautiful. I'm not exaggerating; she was. She was one of

those women that believe everything, and my father fell in love with

her. He married her properly at Avignon. They travelled together

through France and Italy, and then to Belgium. Then, in something less

than a year, I was born. She gave herself up to me entirely. She was

not clever; she had no social talents and no ambitions. No, she

certainly had not much brain; but to balance that she had a heart--so

large that it completely enveloped my father and me.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024