He took her hand in the spirit in which it was offered. "I am within a few days of graduation, but--"
"Please go back--for the sake of a poor little newspaper wretch who feels that she has indirectly spoiled your career." She pressed his hand fervidly. "Promise me this and you'll take a monstrous load off my shoulders."
She had the face, the temperament of the actress, and loved to experiment on the hearts of men; but she was deeply in earnest now. Bartol and Stinchfield had really changed her point of view as regards Mrs. Ollnee, and this "situation" appealed to her at the moment with irresistible power. Life was to her a drama, intense, never-ending, romantic, and at the moment she loved this splendid young man orphaned by her hand.
He could not resist her caressing voice, her appealing eyes, her sensitive lips, and he said, "I promise."
"Thank you," she said, and, dropping his hand, she lifted burning yet tearful eyes to his face. "You are very generous."
"I don't want to rest under false imputations," she repeated. "I did not mean well. That first article was savage. I was angry. I struck blindly, but I struck to hurt."
"Well, all that is ended," he replied, sadly. "My mother is to be buried to-day."
She looked at him in silence for a moment. "I have one more request to make," she said, at last, and her voice was very soft and hesitating. "I'd like to look upon her face. I want to ask her forgiveness."
His heart melted at this plea, and he turned away to hide his tears. When he could speak he said: "She is very beautiful. I cannot believe even now that she is dead; but I have given my consent to have her taken to the cemetery. I will show her to you."
In silence she followed him up the stairway and into the cool, dark room where the coffin lay.
The windows were open at the bottom, and though the shades were drawn, the chamber was filled with soft light. The cries of the barn-yard and the twitter of birds outside seemed strangely softened as the two young people so singularly brought together approached the still form of the seeress and looked into her face serene with the infinite repose of death.
Victor, with choking throat and burning eyes, stood at the bier unable to utter a sound; but the girl, after a long glance, took a rose from her bosom, and, with a sigh, gently laid it on the still, small, white hands of the silent form.