"You told me once, you remember, that not even a wife should separate you and your sister, and now you will allow a low, degraded woman, who is not your wife, and has no claim on you, to again disgrace our home."
"Hush, June, you do not exactly understand the situation. When you understand the matter you will think as I do."
"I do not see how you can love her again."
"I have only pity for her, June."
"Why does she come to you for pity?"
"As a last resort."
"Scott, I do not see how you can have the patience to allow her to remain."
"My good little sister, you never had the heart to turn any one away who was in distress. Irene is ill, and were you to see her you would pity her as I do."
"Perhaps I would," said June, "but I never want to look on her face again, she has caused us so much trouble."
"That is true," said Scott, "but it should not debar us from doing our duty."
June could not see that it was their duty to help a woman who had brought so much misery to their home, and wrecked the life of her noble brother, but she knew upon a moment's reflection that Scott was right, and she concluded that she must be lacking in charity. She stood for a moment in deep thought, and then stepping to Scott's side, and laying her hand on his arm, she said:
"Scott, I did not wish to wound you, and I am sorry if I have done so, and whatever you think best I will try to do, but, ah, I never can love Irene or call her my sister again."
"I neither ask nor expect it, but it is our duty to care for her while she lives, and the most painful duty of life is often the most necessary to perform. I have neither love nor respect for the false woman who has come to me for shelter, but, God helping me, I will try to do my duty, whatever it may be, and if it be necessary for me to battle with the scoffs of the world in order to do my duty, my strength shall be sufficient to enable me to bear it."
"Oh, mother," said June, "it seems to me that if there is a just God He will find some way to remove the cause of my noble brother's sorrow."
"June," said Scott, "there is but one way. Do not even think about that. Come, Irene is very tired, and it is quite necessary that you attend to her wants by giving her every attention. Give her the room she used to have, and let her retire."
June followed Scott to his room, where she found Irene waiting.
"Dear June," she said as she started forward, as though to embrace her, but a look from Scott checked the movement.
"Irene," said Scott, "please bear in mind that you are a Wilmer only in name, and June is acting only from a sense of duty."
"Mrs. Wilmer," June said, in a voice as formal as though she were speaking to a stranger, "my brother has requested me to show you to your room. Will you come?"
"Oh, June," Irene sobbed, as she arose to her feet, and stood trembling before her; "you used to be so good to me; can't you forgive me, either?"
"Irene," she said, "I can be kind to you still, and I can do all that my noble brother requests me to do for you, but I never can overlook the terrible wrong you have done him. If he asks me to bring you a cup of cold water I can do it willingly, but I cannot say that I forgive you when I do not. I cannot be a hypocrite even for Scott. I do pity you, and will do all I can for you, but _I cannot say that I forgive you_."
She led Irene to her room--the same that she had occupied before she left their home, then she arranged the pillows, and turning down the snowy spread, bade Irene good-night, and left her to her own reflections.
"This is my reception. I know I have no right here, but I did think that June and mama would forgive me if Scott did not," Irene said as she slowly undressed herself. "June was always so tender hearted. I thought perhaps Scott might take me back, for some men will forgive anything for a beautiful face, but," she added, as she glanced in the tall mirror before her, "my beauty is fading; oh, dear, and I have lost it all through my own foolishness; and now I know that I might as well give up all hope of ever being loved by Scott again, for the look that he gave me meant even more than the words he uttered, though they were decided enough, Heaven knows, and there is no hope for me here--only to have a shelter. It is strange that my father acts as he does; but, oh, dear, I could neither live nor die with him. Well, I may as well make up my mind that there is nothing left for me but to lie here and die. Oh, God, how I dread it. I wish I could put it off a few years, but, oh, I can't. I must meet it. Oh, I could curse the man who brought me to this. After all, it was my own foolishness."
"Paul, Paul," she heard a voice calling.
"Come, Bob," said June, "Paul is not here; it is time to go to bed, too. What has started you to calling his name?"
Rene listened as the voice grew fainter; it kept calling: "Paul, Paul."
"I would like to see Bob," said Irene. "I wonder if he would not forgive me, either."
Irene had come home to die, and when the fact became known to the family that she was suffering, nothing was left undone that could add to her comfort. There was nothing that Scott might think she desired that was not ordered at once. He sent to her room the choicest of flowers and the finest fruits that were to be found; he sent books that he knew she had admired, and he employed a noted physician whom he urged to use his best endeavors to bring her back to health, but he never entered her room. June and Mrs. Wilmer often sat by her bed, and read to her, to cheer her lonely hours, but there never was a word sent from Scott. It was his custom to inquire after her condition each day, and that was all that he ever spoke of her. Thus the time wore on, bringing Irene Wilmer nearer the grave. There were many beautiful bouquets sent to her room and when she would inquire who remembered her in that way, the reply invariably was Scott or Miss Elsworth, the authoress, whom she had met years before at a summer resort. Indeed, every one else, who knew of her return, took not the slightest notice of her home coming, and those who were aware of the fact wondered that Scott would be foolish enough to take her back.
Irene thought that such a noted woman as Miss Elsworth was becoming, must be very kind to think of a sick person like her, but she was foolish enough to think that the sole reason was because she was a Wilmer, though she did not know how she could have known anything about her, but concluded it was all owing to Scott's riches, that Miss Elsworth had sought her out. She told June she would like so much to see Miss Elsworth, and after many entreaties, June pacified her by saying that she would have Guy find a way, which he did. Miss Elsworth came and Irene requested that she might see her entirely alone, which request was granted.
"I knew you must be good," Rene said, "or you would never have taken the trouble to send me such beautiful flowers. I wanted to tell you how lonely I am. You know, my husband, that is Scott, never comes in the room. He has never been here since I was ill."
"Your husband does not visit you?" said Miss Elsworth in surprise.
"How sad."
"Well, I suppose it is all right, for, of course, you have heard of--my leaving him."
"Yes," Miss Elsworth replied.
"I was sure you would not speak of my foolishness, but I did not know how good Scott was until it was too late to repent. I know, now, he is one of the best men in all the world, or he never would have given me a place to die in. I don't deserve it, and I know I won't want it very long, but some men would never have allowed me to enter the house. I am sorry, oh, so sorry, that I did not know how good he was; I might now have been well and happy."
"Perhaps you will recover," said Miss Elsworth, cheerfully.
"Oh, no, I shall die, and the time is not far off," said Rene, mournfully. "I hope he will find a woman who will love him, and be better to him than I have been, for you cannot begin to think how kind he is. I never knew until I saw how he repaid me for my wickedness."
"Do not be disheartened; you may be happy yet."
"Why," she said, impatiently, "don't I tell you I am going to die? The doctor says so, and the only thing to do is to get ready for it when it comes, but oh, how I dread it. It must be awful to die and not know what you are going to."
"Yes, that is the most terrible part of all."
"I know by some of your books that you must be a good Christian."
"Oh, no, I am not a good Christian, but I try to live up to the commandments and the golden rule."
"I wish I could be like Scott's father; he wasn't a bit afraid to die."
"Perhaps he led a Christian life."
"Oh, yes, he did; he was good to everybody, but I have been very wicked. I don't see how I can help it now."
"You cannot undo what has been done, but you can do better in future."
"The future? Why, there is no future for me but the grave."
Irene, like every other coward at heart, surrendered only when she saw danger staring her in the face. Had her health been given her she would have spared neither pains nor expense to have revenge on Max, but since disease had chained her down, and there was no escape from the destroyer, she began, like the condemned criminal, to confess her guilt as the only means of obtaining mercy.
Two months later Irene lay dying. She had asked to see her husband, and he had granted the request. She wanted him all alone that she might ask his forgiveness. He visited her for the first time since her return, and she had spoken words in confession that made even the strong heart of Scott almost cease its beating.
"Irene," Scott said, "is it possible that all you have told me is true? Can it be true?"
"It is, and I am sorry I deceived you," she said, while the thin white hands reached out toward him. "Oh, Scott, if you will forgive me."