Savannah morning news. [volume] (Savannah) 1868-1887, 1884-08-03

not mafElSu earlier. rive years ago, was
it, No, it was only two. He had been
going to say that in so long a time it
would have been singular he should not
have heard of it. He had been away from
New 4ork for ages; but one always heard
OF marriages and deaths. This was proof,
though two Years was rather long. he led
Mrs. Percival insidiOusly into further
room, in advance of the others, to whom
the cicerone returned. She was de-
lighted to talk about her connections"
and she supplied him with every detail.
He could trust himself now; his self-pOs-
session was complete, or, so far
as it was wanting, the fault
was that Of a sudden gayety which
he could not, on the spot, have
accounted for. OF course it was not very
flattering to them-Mrs. PercivaPs own
peOple-that poor DOra's husband should
have cOnsOled himself: but men always
did 1t talk of widows D and ne had chosen
a girl who was-well, very fine-lO0king,
and the sort of successor to Dora that
they needn't be ashamed Of. She had
/ been awfully admired, and no one had
understood why she had waited so long
to marry. She had had some affair as a
girl-an enga cement to an officer in the
army-and the man had Tilted her, or they
had quarreled, or something or other.
She was almost an old maid we'll she
was thirty, or very nearlv-but she
Z
She was handsOmer than ever, and
tremendously stylish. William Roy had
one of the biggest incomes in the city. and
he was quite affectionate. He had been
intensely fond of DOra-he often spoke of
her still, at least to her own relations;
and her portrait. the last time Mrs. Per-
ciyal was in his house { it was at party,
after his marriage to Miss Gressie) was
still in the front parlor. Perhaps by this
time he had had it moved to the back; but
she was sure he would Reepit somewhere.
any way poor Dora had had no children hut
Georgina was making that all right-she
had beautiful boy. Mrs. Percival had
what she would have called quite pleas
ant chat with Capt. BenyOn about Mrs.
Roy. Perhaps he was the officer-she
never thought Of that! He was sure he
had never Tilted her? And he had never
quarTeled with lady? Well, he must be
different from most men.
He certainly had the air of being so, be-
fore he parted that afternoon with Kate
Theory. This young lady, at least, was
free to think him wanting in that con-
sistency which is supposed to be dis
tinctively masculine virtue. An hour be-
fore he had taken an eternal farewell of
her, and now he was abiding to future
meetings, to future visits, proposing that,
with her sister-in-law, she should APP
point an early day for coming to see the
Louisiana" She had supposed she I'M
derstOod him, but it would appear now
that she had not understood him at all.
His manner had changed, too. More and
more off his guard, Raymond Benyon was
not aware how much more hopeful an ex-
preston it gave him. his irresistible sense
that somehow or other this extraordinary
proceeding of his wife's would set him
free. Kate Theory felt rather weary and
mystitied-au the more for knowing that
henceforth Capt. BenyOn's variations
would be the most important thing in life
for her.
This officer, on his ship in the bay. lin-
gered very late on deck that night
fingered there, indeed, under the warm
southern sky, in which the stars glittered
with hot, red light, until the early dawn
began to show. He smoked cigar after
cigar, he walked up and down by the
hour, he was agitated by a thousand re-
Elections, he repeated to himself that it
made ditference-ani immense difference;
but the pink light had deepened in the
east before he had discovered in what the
change consisted. BY that time he saw it
clearly-it consisted in GeOrgina's being
in his power now, in place Of his being in
hers. lie laughed as he sat there alone |
IN the darkness at the thought OF what /
she had done. IL had occurred |
to him more than once that she 4
would do 1.-THE believed her capa-
bic OF anything; but the accomplished /
fact had a freshness of cOmicalty. He +
thought Of Mir. William Roy. of his big |
income, of his being "quite atfecti0nate" +
Of his blooming son and heir, of his hav- /
ing found such a worthy successor to poor 1
Mrs. Dora. He wondered whether Geor- I
gina had mentioned to him that she had +
husband living, but was strongly Of the /
belief that she had not. Why should she, T
after all? She had neglected to mention
It to SO many others. He had thought he
knew her. ~ so many years-that he bad
nothing more to learn about her; but
this ripe stroke revived big sense Of I
her audacity. OF course il was what she
had been waiting for, and if she had not
done it sooner it was because she had
hoped he would be lost at sea in one of his
long cruises and relieve her of the
necessity Of a crime. How she
must hate him to-day ter NOT hav-
ing been lost, for being alive, for
continuing to put her in the wrong.
Much as she hated him, however, his own
loathing was at least match for hers. She
had done him the foulest of wrOngs-she
had ravaged his life. That he should ever
detest in this degree a woman whom he
had once loved as he loved her, he would
not have thought possible in his in
nocent younger years. But he
would not have thought it pos
sible then that a woman should be such
a cOld-blo3ded devil as she had been. His
love had persisted in his rage-his blind
ing, impotent rage at finding that &c mad
heen duped, and measuring his impo-
tence. When he learned, years before,
from Mrs POrtico, what she had done |
with her baby, Of whose entrance into
life she herself had given him no intima-
ton, he felt that he was face to face with
d full revelation Of her nature. Before
that it had puzzled him; it had amazed
him; his relations with her were beWilder-
ing. stupefying. But when. after obtain
ing, with difficulty and delay. leave of
absence from government, and betaking
himself to Italy to look for the child and
assume possession Of it, he had en-
countered absolute failure and defeat
then the case presented itself to him more
simply. He perceived that he had mated
himself with q creature who just nap
pened to be q monster, human excep-
ton altogether. That was what he
couldn't pardon-her conduct about the
child; never, never, never! 10 hlm she
might have done what she chose, dropped
him, pushed him out into eternal cold,
with his hands fast tied, and he would
have accepted it, excused her almost,
admitted that it had been his business
to mind better what he was about. But /
she had tortured him through the
poor little irrecOYerable son whom
be had never seen, through the heart
and the conscience that she had not
herself, and that he had to have, poor
wretch, for both of them. All his efforts
for years had been to forget these horrible
months, and he had cut himself off from
them SO that they seemed at times to
belong to the life Of another person. But /
tonight be lived them over again; he |
retraced the different gradations Of dark
ness through which he had passed, from |
the moment, so soon after his eXtraordi- /
nary marriage, when it came over him
that she already repented, and meant, if /
possible. to elude all her obligations.
This was the moment when he saw why |
She had reserved heTself-in the strange |
VOW she extracted from him-an open
door for retreat; the moment, too, when .
her having had such an inspiration Tin /
the midst of her momentary good faith, I
il good faith it had ever been) struck |
him as a proof of her essential de- /
pravity. What he had tried TO for I
yet came back to him. the child that was I
not his child produced for him when he |
fell upon that squalid nest of peasants i'll /
the Genoese country, and then the confess |
sions, retractatiOns, contradictions, lies, |
towrcrc fbraafs and onpnr91 hOtfOmIpGs /