``Then I have been blessed with parents,'' he said.
At that she swayed, but when I would have caught her she motioned me away and turned to Antoinette.Twice Mrs.Temple tried to speak.
``I was going away to-night,'' she said at length, ``and you would never have seen or heard of me more.
My nephew David--Mr.Ritchie--whom I treated cruelly as a boy, had pity on me.He is a good man, and he was to have taken me away-- I do not attempt to defend myself, my dear, but I pray that you, who have so much charity, will some day think a little kindly of one who has sinned deeply, of one who will love and bless you and yours to her dying day.''
She faltered, and Nick would have spoken had not Antoinette herself stayed him with a gesture.
``I wish--my son to know the little there is on my side.
It is not much.Yet God may not spare him the sorrow that brings pity.I--I loved Harry Riddle as a girl.
My father was ruined, and I was forced into marriage with John Temple for his possessions.He was selfish, overbearing, cruel--unfaithful.During the years I lived with him he never once spoke kindly to me.I, too, grew wicked and selfish and heedless.My head was turned by admiration.Mr.Temple escaped to England in a man-of-war; he left me without a line of warning, of farewell.
I--I have wandered over the earth, haunted by remorse, and I knew no moment of peace, of happiness, until you brought me here and sheltered and loved me.And even here I have had many sleepless hours.A hundred times I have summoned my courage to tell you,--I could not.
I am justly punished, Antoinette.'' She moved a little, timidly, towards the girl, who stood motionless, dazed by what she heard.She held out a hand, appealingly, and dropped it.``Good-by, my dear; God will bless you for your kindness to an unfortunate outcast.''
She glanced with a kind of terror in her eyes from the girl to Nick, and what she meant to say concerning their love I know not, for the flood, held back so long, burst upon her.She wept as I have never seen a woman weep.
And then, before Nick or I knew what had happened, Antoinette had taken her swiftly in her arms and was murmuring in her ear:--``You shall not go.You shall not.You will live with me always.''
Presently the sobs ceased, and Mrs.Temple raised her face, slowly, wonderingly, as if she had not heard aright.
And she tried gently to push the girl away.
``No, Antoinette,'' she said, ``I have done you harm enough.''
But the girl clung to her strongly, passionately.``Ido not care what you have done,'' she cried, ``you are good now.I know that you are good now.I will not cast you out.I will not.''
I stood looking at them, bewildered and astonished by Mademoiselle's loyalty.She seemed to have forgotten Nick, as had I, and then as I turned to him he came towards them.Almost roughly he took Antoinette by the arm.
``You do not know what you are saying,'' he cried.
``Come away, Antoinette, you do not know what she has done--you cannot realize what she is.''
Antoinette shrank away from him, still clinging to Mrs.Temple.There was a fearless directness in her look which might have warned him.
``She is your mother,'' she said quietly.
``My mother!'' he repeated; ``yes, I will tell you what a mother she has been to me--''
``Nick!''
It passes my power to write down the pity of that appeal, the hopelessness of it, the yearning in it.Freeing herself from the girl, Mrs.Temple took one step towards him, her arms held up.I had not thought that his hatred of her was deep enough to resist it.It was Antoinette whose intuition divined this ere he had turned away.
``You have chosen between me and her,'' he said; and before we could get the poor lady to the seat under the oak, he had left the garden.In my perturbation I glanced at Antoinette, but there was no other sign in her face save of tenderness for Mrs.Temple.
Mrs.Temple had mercifully fainted.As I crossed the lawn I saw two figures in the deep shadow beside the gallery, and I heard Nick's voice giving orders to Benjy to pack and saddle.When I reached the garden again the girl had loosed Mrs.Temple's gown, and was bending over her, murmuring in her ear.
** ** ***
Many hours later, when the moon was waning towards the horizon, fearful of surprise by the coming day, I was riding slowly under the trees on the road to New Orleans.
Beside me, veiled in black, her head bowed, was Mrs.Temple, and no word had escaped her since she had withdrawn herself gently from the arms of Antoinette on the gallery at Les Iles.Nick had gone long before.The hardest task had been to convince the girl that Mrs.Temple might not stay.After that Antoinette had busied herself, with a silent fortitude I had not thought was in her, making ready for the lady's departure.I shall never forget her as she stood, a slender figure of sorrow, looking down at us, the tears glistening on her cheeks.And Icould not resist the impulse to mount the steps once more.
``You were right, Antoinette,'' I whispered; ``whatever happens, you will remember that I am your friend.And I will bring him back to you if I can.''
She pressed my hand, and turned and went slowly into the house.
