To be his wife, his helpmate, chosen from the whole world as
one he deemed most worthy and most able to cheer and aid him in
life's battle--that seemed heaven to me; but to know that by one
rash, impetuous act of folly, I had placed him in a position where he
felt that honour compelled him to marry me--why, this thought was
more bitter than death. I knew that he loved me; yet I knew, too,
that by a union with me under the circumstances he would antagonise
those who were now his best and most influential friends, and that
his entire career would be ruined. I resolved to go away; to
disappear from his life and leave no trace. If his love was as
sincere as mine, he would find me; and time would show him some wiser
way for breaking his new-made fetters than the rash and sudden method
he now contemplated. He had forgotten to protect me with his love,
but I could not forget to protect him. In every true woman's love
there is the maternal element which renders sacrifice natural.
"Fate hastened and furthered my plans for departure. Made aware that
the Baroness was suspicious of my fault, and learning that my lover
was suddenly called to the bedside of his fiancee, I made my escape
from the town and left no trace behind. I went to that vast haystack
of lost needles--New York, and effaced Berene Dumont in Mrs Lamont.
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