The Evil Genius: A Domestic Story — page 193: what you’re looking at

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182 THE EVIL GENIUS. ‘‘ pray don’t treat me as if it was my fault. I dare not ask you to alter your opinion—— ‘‘Do you dare look the truth in the face?’ Catherine inter- osed, ‘‘Do you remember what sacred ties that man hag roken? what memories he has profaned? what years of faith- ful love he has cast from him? Must I tell you how he poi- soned his wife’s mind with doubts of his truth and despair of his honor, when he basely deserted her? You talk of your re- pentance. Is there no sympathy for me in your repentance ?” Sydney silently submitted to reproach, silently endured the shame that finds no excuse for itself. Catherine looked at her, and relented. The noble nature which could stoop to anger, but never sink to the lower depths of malice and persecution, restrained itself and made amends. ‘* Tsay it in no unkindness to you,” she resumed. ‘‘ But, when you ask me to forgive, consider what you ask me to forget. It will only distress us both if we remain longer together,” she continued, rising as she spoke. ‘* Perhaps you will believe that I mean well, when I ask if there is anything I can do for you ?” ‘* Nothing!” All the desolation of the lost woman told its terrible tale in that one word. Invited to rest herself in the hotel, she asked leave to remain where she was; the mere effort of rising was too -much for her now. Catherine said the parting words kindly. ‘‘] believe in your good intentions, I believe in your repent- ance.” ‘* Believe in ray punishment!” After that reply, no more was said. Behind the trees that closed the view at the further extremity of the lawn the moon was rising. As the two women lost sight of each other, the new light, pure and beautiful, began to dawn over the garden. CHAPTER XLVI. NIL DESPERANDUM. No horror of her solitude, no melancholy recollections, no dread of the future disturbed Sydney’s mind. The one sense left in her was the sense of fatigue. Vacantly, mechanically, the girl rested as a tired animal might have rested. She saw nothing, heard nothing; the one feeling of which she was con- scious was a dull aching in every limb. The moon climbed the heavens, brightening the topmost leaves of the trees, found the gloom in which Sydney was hidden, and cheered it tenderly with radiant light. She was too weary to sleep, too weary even to shade her face when the moonbeams touched it. While the light still strengthened, while the slow minutes still followed each other unheeded, the one influence that could rouse Sydney found her at last—set her faint heart throbbing—called her prostrate spirit to life again. She heard a glad cry of recog- nition in a child’s voice: ‘*Oh, Sydney, dear, is it you?” ECOMMICOOOMKS (C©)