“It is every word true,” Dr. Winthrop went on relentlessly. “Salome, my wife, is one of the loveliest women on earth, and you and Evelyn have much to answer for, for your treatment of her. It is no fault of yours that she was not driven to her death—that both our lives were not irretrievably ruined. What if you had succeeded in making me marry that woman’s daughter—that impostor! Think of the disgrace, the misery which must have ensued! I should have lost, not only those fortunes, which you have been so determined to win at all costs, but my wife, my self-respect, and everything worth living for; you would have made a bigamist of me, and burdened me with a woman who is utterly without feeling or principle—who is false to the very core of her nature. Oh, my mother, why could you not have conquered your unworthy pride and ambition, and allowed the sweetness and nobility of that lovely girl to win you? All the wretchedness of these two long years need never have come to us. Think how beautifully Salome received and entertained you when you returned so suddenly from abroad; her conduct was simply perfect, both as a hostess and as a daughter, and she would have loved you tenderly if you had but opened your heart to her. Instead, you offered her scorn and slights. She bore all with the utmost sweetness, never showing the slightest retaliation, but denied herself in every possible way to conciliate you and Evelyn. What a contrast to these two women, to whom you have cringed and fawned, hoping to gratify your insatiable ambition. Think of what they are guilty! They have discovered Sister Angela’s identity.” “What!” exclaimed Madame Winthrop, startled for the moment out of her shame and humiliation, “do they know?” “Yes, they found her out while you and Evelyn were away from the chateau. She was suddenly taken ill, and in trying to restore her they learned her secret. They hid her in their own rooms, waiting upon her themselves until she was able to be moved, and then, with the cunning of devils, trapped her into a mad-house in Paris, where they hoped to bury her alive, and thus enable them to carry out their purpose of marrying Mrs. Rochester’s daughter to me. Do you realize what the success of such a plot would have involved? Do you realize the crimes that you have been aiding and abetting?—theft upon a wholesale scale, abduction and bigamy?” Madame Winthrop threw out her hand with a gesture of horror at these ugly names. “This is plain language, I know, mother,” Dr. Winthrop went on, “but you deserve to have the unvarnished truth set before you, and I want you to understand that if you had succeeded in accomplishing your purpose, the very end for which you have schemed would have been frustrated; the truth must surely have been revealed eventually, and then, ah! the shame and misery of it all!” CHAPTER XLVII. “SALOME, YOU HAVE CONQUERED ME!”