"
The groom and runner both went quickly off to obey.
Marguerite remained standing for a moment on the lawn quite alone.
Her graceful figure was as rigid as a statue, her eyes were fixed, her
hands were tightly clasped across her breast; her lips moved as they
murmured with pathetic heart-breaking persistence,--
"What's to be done? What's to be done? Where to find
him?--Oh, God! grant me light."
But this was not the moment for remorse and despair. She had
done--unwittingly--an awful and terrible thing--the very worst crime,
in her eyes, that woman ever committed--she saw it in all its horror.
Her very blindness in not having guessed her husband's secret seemed
now to her another deadly sin. She ought to have known! she ought
to have known!
How could she imagine that a man who could love with so much
intensity as Percy Blakeney had loved her from the first--how could
such a man be the brainless idiot he chose to appear? She, at least,
ought to have known that he was wearing a mask, and having found that
out, she should have torn it from his face, whenever they were alone
together.
Her love for him had been paltry and weak, easily crushed by
her own pride; and she, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt
for him, whilst, as a matter of fact, she completely misunderstood
him.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251