Chapter 8 - Page 2

and remorse.

"Twenty years ago, an English gentleman met a friend in a little Italian
town, where he had married a beautiful wife. The wife had a sister as
lovely as herself, and the young man, during that brief stay, loved and
married her--in a very private manner, lest his father should disinherit
him. A few months passed, and the Englishman was called home to take
possession of his title and estates, the father being dead. He went
alone, promising to send for the wife when all was ready. He told no one
of his marriage, meaning to surprise his English friends by producing
the lovely woman unexpectedly. He had been in England but a short time
when he received a letter from the old priest of the Italian town,
saying the cholera had swept through it, carrying off half its
inhabitants, his wife and friend among others. This blow prostrated the
young man, and when he recovered he hid his grief, shut himself up in
his country house, and tried to forget. Accident threw in his way
another lovely woman, and he married again. Before the first year was
out, the friend whom he supposed was dead appeared, and told him that
his wife still lived, and had borne him a child. In the terror and
confusion of the plague, the priest had mistaken one sister for the
other, as the elder did die."

"Yes, yes, I know; go on!" gasped my lady, with white lips, and eyes
that never left the narrator's face.

"This friend had met with misfortune after flying from the doomed
village with the surviving sister. They had waited long for letters, had
written, and, when no answer came, had been delayed by illness and
poverty from reaching England. At this time the child was born, and the
friend, urged by the wife and his own interest, came here, learned that
Sir Richard was married, and hurried to him in much distress. We can
imagine the grief and horror of the unhappy man. In that interview the
friend promised to leave all to Sir Richard, to preserve the secret till
some means of relief could be found; and with this promise he returned,
to guard and comfort the forsaken wife. Sir Richard wrote the truth to
Lady Trevlyn, meaning to kill himself, as the only way of escape from
the terrible situation between two women, both so beloved, both so
innocently wronged. The pistol lay ready, but death came without its
aid, and Sir Richard was spared the sin of suicide."

Paul paused for breath, but Lady Trevlyn motioned him to go on, still
sitting rigid and white as the marble image near her.

"The friend only lived to reach home and tell the story. It killed the
wife, and she died, imploring the old priest to see her child righted
and its father's name secured to it. He promised; but he was poor, the