I should abhor and
hate the murderer of my father, I suppose, but somehow I can not. Mr.
Walraven has been very good to me. And now, mother, tell me why you came
on the day of his marriage, and strove to prevent it? You did not really
think he was going to marry me?"
"I never thought so," said Miriam. "It was one of my mad freaks--an evil
wish to torment him. I have been a nightmare to him ever since my first
appearance. I hardly know whether he hates or fears me most. But that is
all past and gone. I will never torment him again in this world. Give me
more wine, Mollie--my lips are parched."
Miriam moistened her dry mouth and fell back, ghastly and breathing
hard. Mollie rose from the bedside with a heavy sign.
"You will not leave me?" the dying woman whispered, in alarm, opening
her glassy eyes.
"Only for a moment, mother. Mr. Ingelow is below. I must speak with
him."
She glided from the room and went down-stairs.
Hugh Ingelow, leaning against the door-post, smoking a solacing cigar,
and watching the new moon rise, started as she appeared.
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