“Mamma! it is—it is——” began Miss Rochester, looking as if she herself was on the verge of fainting. “SALOME!” whispered the elder woman, with a gasp of terror. CHAPTER XXIII. SALOME LEARNS A STARTLING FACT. Yes, lying there upon the floor, all unconscious of her condition or surroundings, or of the fact that her identity was discovered, lay the wife of Truman Winthrop. It was indeed Salome, fair and beautiful as when Dr. Winthrop had held her in his arms on the morning of his sudden departure for Europe, though she was somewhat worn and thin from long watching and anxiety; for these last few weeks, during which the man whom she so fondly loved had lain so low, had been a severe strain upon both heart and strength. Mrs. Rochester and her daughter hung trembling over her, astonishment, consternation, and even terror depicted upon their blanched faces, and both seemingly too unnerved by their appalling discovery to know what to do in such an emergency. “She was not burned to death after all,” Miss Rochester at length whispered, tremulously, as she bent closer for a better view of the girl; “and how on earth did she happen to be in Paris at this time, or to get into this family?” “That is easily enough explained,” returned Mrs. Rochester, beginning to recover herself, while her face grew hard and stern. “She must have escaped from that building without being seen, and has probably been hiding ever since for some reason—perhaps because she was piqued and believed that her marriage was illegal, as they told her. But she has doubtless kept herself posted regarding the movements of the Winthrops, and so followed them here, to be near him. Then, of course, since she is such a natural-born nurse, it was easy enough for her to get into almost any hospital, where, disguised in this outlandish manner, her own mother would never have recognized her; and, having nursed Tillinghast through his illness with such success, it is not at all wonderful that Dr. Winthrop should have wanted her to come here. But”—with a sudden compression of her lips—“what are we going to do about the matter, now that we have made the discovery?” “Well, to begin with, let us get her out of this hall—take her at once to my room,” said Miss Rochester, a cruel light leaping into her beautiful eyes; “and you understand, mamma,” she added, “we must keep her out of sight—no one must see her or know what we know, and just as soon as possible she must be got out of the house. What do you suppose is to become of us—of my future interests—if Truman Winthrop discovers that his wife is living?” “What is to become of your future interests whether he learns it or not, since the fact remains that she does live?” bitterly demanded her mother. “Oh, I don’t know; I must have time to think. Mamma, she must not be allowed to spoil everything now. But come—help me, and, let us get her out of sight at once.”