Stolen Souls Part 27

I rose and looked at her. She was still seated, her eyes riveted upon the fire, her cheek resting upon her hand, appearing to have forgotten my presence. For a moment I remained in that position, then I reseated myself. There was nothing awkward in our silence. We felt too deeply for idle words. As we contemplated our past, the wind whistled without, the rain fell furiously, and from time to time I added a log to the fire and stirred the embers.

"Theophile," she exclaimed suddenly, looking me straight in the face, "it is your fault that I am married."

"Married?" I gasped in amazement. "I--I thought this cottage was your aunt's; that you kept house for her?"

There was a silence. The voice made me tremble, gay, careless idler that I was. She spoke slowly, without moving, as though giving utterance to the thought that possessed her. "When a woman is forsaken by the man she loves, who can blame her for a hasty, loveless marriage?"

she asked. "You wrecked my life, Theophile, but I forgive you freely.

After you had left, I was stricken down with grief, madness followed, and I accepted the first man who proposed to me. I did not love him; I--I shall never love him. And how could I? He is a dissolute ne'er-do-well, who spends his days in the _estaminet_, drinking cognac.

It is I who am compelled to toil and earn money for him to spend in drink. Ah, Theophile, you little know how dull and utterly hopeless is my life!"

"But your husband, does he not try and make you happy?" I asked.

"Happy?" she cried, jumping to her feet and impetuously tearing open the bodice of her dress. "See! See, here; the marks of his violence, where he tried to murder me!" And she disclosed to my view her delicate breast disfigured by an ugly knife-wound, only partially healed.

"Horrible!" I exclaimed, with an involuntary shudder.

"That is not all," she continued, turning up her sleeves and revealing cruel bruises and lacerations upon her alabaster-like arms. "He wants to rid himself of me, to be free again; and when the brandy takes effect, he threatens to kill me."

"Why stay and be brutally ill-used in this manner?" I asked.

Shrugging her shoulders, she smiled sadly, replying, "If I were dead, it would end my misery. Should he ever know that you have been here, his jealousy would be so aroused that I believe he would carry his threat into effect."

"Come, come, Mariette, you must not talk like that," I exclaimed. "It grieves me to know of your unhappiness, to think that I am to blame."

"Remember, I forgive you."

"Yes, but try to bear up against it; do your duty to your husband, and thus compel him to treat you kindly."

"I have tried to do so, Heaven knows," she replied hoa.r.s.ely, bursting into tears; "But everything is useless. Only death can release me."

"Don't talk so gloomily," I urged, taking one of her cold hands in mine.

"Although we can be naught to one another save friends, let me be yours. I am ready to do anything you command me."

"You are kind, Theophile, very kind," she replied bitterly, shaking her head; "but friendship is poor reparation for love."

I thought of the years we had pa.s.sed together at the time when years are so long and beautiful.

Finally I said to her--

"Tell me, what can I do for you?"

She made no answer, only her face appeared to grow a shade paler. With her eyes on the clock, she seemed to listen. "Nothing," she replied at last. "You--you must go."

"So soon?"

"Yes," she said, with a choking sob. "You ought not to have come here, and--and you must forgive me, Theophile, we women are so weak when memories are painful."

She wished to aid me in my preparations for departure, handed me my hat and b.u.t.toned my coat. We said nothing, but she lingered over the b.u.t.toning as though it were something very difficult.

Suddenly, with a bitter burst of tears, she flung her head down against my arm. She seemed such a frail little creature as I held her tightly and stroked away the tendril curls that strayed across her face.

I longed to console her, but could not give utterance to my thoughts.

"Mariette. Poor little Mariette," was all I could say.

"Good-bye, Theophile, good-bye," she whispered brokenly. "A great gulf separates us; you have gaiety and happiness, I only misery and despair.

My husband--"

Just as suddenly as they commenced, her tears ceased. Clasping her hands, she lifted her agitated face to mine.

"Promise me--promise you will never return here again!"

I did not reply.

Bending over, her lips met mine in one fierce pa.s.sionate caress.

Next second we were startled by a strange noise, sounding suspiciously like a footstep upon the gravel. We listened, but the sound was not repeated.

"Hark!" she whispered anxiously. "If my husband should find you here, would it not compromise me?"

With a force I should never have suspected, she led me to the door, and, after giving me a gentle push, locked it behind me.

"Adieu!" I murmured, as tenderly as I could.

There was no answer.

Through the keyhole I could see Mariette kneeling before a crucifix on the opposite wall.

Then I turned and went forth into the darkness.

The morning was grey and dispiriting; the chill wind whirled the dead leaves in my path, and moaned through the bare branches as I walked up to the door of the cottage. My mind was perturbed by thoughts of what happiness might have resulted had I been true to the woman who loved me.

I had spent a restless night at a roadside inn. Her misery tortured me, and, despite her entreaty, I was now on my way to again proffer a.s.sistance.

With trepidation I approached the door of the humble abode and knocked.

No one stirred. Everything seemed strangely silent.

About to repeat the summons, I noticed the door was ajar. Pushing it slowly open, I entered, at the same time uttering her name.

As I stepped into the neat, well-kept room, I at first saw nothing, but on glancing round the opposite side of the table, my eyes encountered a terrible sight.

Stretched upon the floor, Mariette was lying partly dressed, the pale light falling upon her upturned features. The cheeks and lips were bloodless; the eyes, wide-open, were staring wildly into s.p.a.ce with a look of indescribable horror.

Falling upon my knees, I touched her face with my hand.

It was cold as marble. _She was dead_!