CHAPTER XXX
"I loved him, Mrs. Wentworth. That is all my defense. Call me weak, cowardly, wicked, if you will; but I could not put the temptation from me. Think what all my life had been—how dull, how sad, how lonely! Was it easy to put away happiness when it came to me in so fair a guise?"
The white hands were clasped imploringly, the dark eyes were lifted pleadingly as the sad words fell from Laurel's lips. Beatrix Wentworth and Clarice Wells, her judges and accusers, looked gravely upon the tortured face of the culprit—the fairest culprit that was ever arraigned for her sin.
"Do you call it happiness?" said Beatrix Wentworth. "I should not think you would know one happy hour, living on the verge of a volcano that may destroy you at any moment. I should think that your sorrow and repentance would almost kill you."
"But I do not repent!" cried Laurel desperately. "I shall never repent while I remain with St. Leon. I am too happy, in spite of my fears, for sorrow or repentance. When I am torn away from him when I have lost his love, then I shall repent, then I shall understand the depths of my dreadful sin; but never before!"
They looked at her in wonder. They could not understand her. Surely she was mad—the glamour of passion had obscured her reason!
"And when the end comes—when he has put you from him—what will you do then, poor child!" asked Beatrix, slowly.
"Then I shall die," the beautiful girl answered, despairingly.
And again they did not know what to say to her. She had no thoughts outside of this love that she held by so slight a thread. She could see nothing beyond it but death. Beatrix could not help feeling vexed with her. She loved her own young husband with a fond, romantic love, but she could not comprehend the madness of Laurel's devotion.
"It is not so easy to die, Laurel," she said, impatiently. "You are a woman now, and you must not answer me like a child. Your sin will find you out someday, and you will perhaps be cast adrift in the world. You should have some plans formed for that time."
There was a moment's silence; then Laurel murmured, tremblingly:
"St. Leon loves me—perhaps he will forgive me."
Clarice Wells gave an audible sigh from her corner. Beatrix murmured, "Poor child!"
And the mistress and maid looked at each other in silence a moment. They did not know how to deal with this nature. Both wondered in themselves if St. Leon Le Roy would indeed forgive her falsehood. They did not think so.
Beatrix toyed nervously with the tassels of her pale blue morning dress.
"Laurel," she said, after a moment. "Clarice and I have formed a plan for you. We do not want to betray you to your husband. We think it would be better if you confessed the truth to him yourself."
They never forgot how deathly white she grew, nor how wild and frightened the dark eyes looked. She threw out her hands as if to ward off a blow.
"Confess to St. Leon? Why, I would sooner die!" she gasped.
"But, my dear child," remonstrated Beatrix, "he would be far more likely to forgive you if you confessed to him yourself than if I betrayed you."
"You will not do that, oh, you will not do that! You could not be so cruel!" gasped Laurel, throwing herself impulsively at Beatrix's feet. "Oh, Mrs. Wentworth, I helped you to happiness! Do not rob me of mine!"
Clarice raised her gently and replaced her in her seat.
"You have not heard all my plan out, Laurel," said Beatrix. "I do not forget my debt to you. I would sooner help you than betray you. I was going on to say that if you would be brave enough to confess to St. Leon how you have wronged him, I too would confess to him. I would tell him how much I was to blame. I would beg him to forgive you because you were so innocent and ignorant, and because you loved him so. Then—if it came to the worst—if, in his pride and his wrath, he should put you away from him—you might come to us—to Cyril and me."
The hapless young creature did not answer a word. She stared at Beatrix mutely with wide, wild eyes like a hunted fawn's.
"Well, what do you say, Laurel?" inquired Beatrix. "Will you do as I wish you?"
"It is too terrible a risk. I do not dare," moaned Laurel, hiding her face in her hands.
Then for a time, there was silence. Beatrix was hurt and chagrined that her plan had been discarded. She thought Laurel was a headstrong, willful child, rushing blindly upon her own destruction.
But she could not help pitying the girl, her fear and misery were so great. She desisted from advising her. It seemed too much like torturing some lovely, helpless creature. The hunted look in the dark eyes pained her.
"After all, is she any worse than I am?" said Beatrix to herself. "I deceived my parents. I risked everything for love's sake, and this poor child has done no more than that. I must not be angry with her. I must remember always that it was I who led her into temptation."
She went to her gently, she took the white hands from the pale, tear-stained face, and held them kindly in both of hers.
"Laurel, do not look so miserable and heart-broken," she said, gently. "You need not be afraid of me."
Laurel looked at her with a flash of hope in her humid eyes.
"Do you mean that you will not betray me?" she panted.
"I will not betray you," Beatrix answered. "I pity you too much, my poor child, and I know that the end will come soon enough. Far be it from me to hasten the evil hour."
She was glad she had spoken so kindly when she saw the lovely flush of joy that came into the sensitive face. Laurel thanked and blessed her passionately, and then the dark eyes turned to Clarice.
"And will you have mercy on me, too?" she said. "I have always been afraid of you, Clarice. I have always remembered what you said. The words have haunted me."
"I meant what I said," replied the maid. "If I had seen you going to the altar with him, I should have betrayed you and saved him. It would have been my duty."
"And now?" Laurel questioned faintly.
"It has gone too far," answered Clarice. "You are Mr. Le Roy's wedded wife. What God hath joined together, no man must put asunder."
She thanked them with such trembling passion and joy that they could have wept.
"I do not know whether I am doing right," said Beatrix. "But I am very happy, and I remember always that you helped me to my happiness, and that I thoughtlessly led you into temptation. I will keep your secret, Laurel, and may God help you when your hour of reckoning comes, as it too surely will, my poor child, sooner or later."
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