Chapter 29 - Page 2

in the good deeds of this woman, whom he so loved, he observed an
eagerness which was almost a passion. She had changed no whit in the
brilliance of her spirit; in the world she reigned a queen as she had
ever done; wheresoever she moved, life and gayety seemed to follow,
whether it was at the Court, in the town, or the country; but in both
town and country he found she did strange charities, and seemed to
search for creatures she might aid in such places as other women had
not courage to dive into.

This he discovered through encountering her one day as she re-entered
Osmonde House, returning from some such errand, clad in dark, plain
garments, her black hood drawn over her face, being thereby so
disguised that but for her height and bearing he should not have
recognised her--indeed, he thought, she had not seen and would have
passed him in silence.

He put forth his hand and stayed her, smiling.

"Your Grace!" he said, "or some vision!"

She threw the black hood back and her fair face and large black eyes
shone out from beneath its shadows. She drew his hand up and kissed it,
and held it against her cheek in a dear way which was among the
sweetest of her wifely caresses.

"It is like Heaven, Gerald," she said, "to see your face, after
beholding such miseries."

And when he took her in his arm and led her to the room in which they
loved best to sit in converse together, she told him of a poor creature
she had been to visit, and when she named the place where she had found
her, 'twas a haunt so dark and wicked that he started in alarm and
wonder at her.

"Nay, dear one," he said, "such dens are not for you to visit. You must
not go to them again."

She was sitting on a low seat before him, and she leaned forward, the
black hood falling back, framing her face and making it look white.

"None else dare go," she said; "none else dare go, Gerald. Such places
are so hideous and so noisome, and yet there are those who are born and
die there, bound hand and foot when they are born, that they may be
bound hand and foot to die!" She rose as if she did not know she moved,
and stood up before him, her hand upon her breast.

"'Tis such as I should go," she said, "I who am happy and
beloved--after all--after all! 'Tis such as I who should go, and carry
love and pity--love and pity!" And she seemed Love's self and Pity's
self, and stood transfigured.

"You are a saint," he cried; "and yet I am afraid. Ah! how could any
harm you?"

"I am so great and strong," she said, in a still voice, "none could
harm me if they would.