Didactic fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction
"I mean," she answered, in a low voice, "I mean that Mr. Vane's son is
responsible for his condition to-day. Oh--not consciously so. But the
cause of this trouble is mental--can't you see it? The cause of this
trouble is remorse. Can't you see that it has eaten into his soul? Do you
wish a greater victory than this, or a sadder one? Hilary Vane will not
ask for his son--because he cannot. He has no more power to send that
message than a man shipwrecked on an island. He can only give signals of
distress--that some may heed. Would She have waited for such a victory as
you demand? And does Austen Vane desire it? Don't you think that he would
come to his father if he knew? And have you any right to keep the news
from him? Have you any right to decide what their vengeance shall be?"
Euphrasia had stood mute as she listened to these words which she had so
little expected, but her eyes flashed and her breath came quickly. Never
had she been so spoken to! Never had any living soul come between her and
her cherished object the breaking of the heart of Hilary Vane! Nor,
indeed, had that object ever been so plainly set forth as Victoria had
set it forth. And this woman who dared to do this had herself brought
unhappiness to Austen. Euphrasia had almost forgotten that, such had been
the strange harmony of their communion.
"Have you the right to tell Austen?" she demanded.
"Have I?" Victoria repeated. And then, as the full meaning of the
question came to her; the colour flooded into her face, and she would
have fled, if she could, bud Euphrasia's words came in a torrent.
"You've made him unhappy, as well as Hilary. He loves you--but he
wouldn't speak of it to you. Oh, no, he didn't tell me who it was, but I
never rested till I found out. He never would have told me about it at
all, or anybody else, but that I guessed it. I saw he was unhappy, and I
calculated it wasn't Hilary alone made him so. One night he came in here,
and I knew all at once--somehow--there was a woman to blame, and I asked
him, and he couldn't lie to me. He said it wasn't anybody's fault but his
own--he wouldn't say any more than that, except that he hadn't spoken to
her. I always expected the time was coming when there would be--a woman.
And I never thought the woman lived that he'd love who wouldn't love him.
I can't see how any woman could help lovin' him.
"And then I found out it was that railroad. It came between Sarah Austen
and her happiness, and now it's come between Austen and his. Perhaps you
don't love him!" cried Euphrasia. "Perhaps you're too rich and high and
mighty. Perhaps you're a-going to marry that fine young man who came with
you in the buggy. Since I heard who you was, I haven't had a happy hour.
Let me tell you there's no better blood in the land than the Austen
blood. I won't mention the Vanes. If you've led him on, if you've
deceived him, I hope you may be unhappy as Sarah Austen was--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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