53. CHAPTER LIII.
SLIGO MOULTRIE vice ABEL NEWT.
Abel Newt had now had two distinct warnings of something
which nobody knew must happen so well as he. He
dined sumptuously that very day, and dressed very carefully
that evening, and at eight o'clock was sitting alone with Grace
Plumer. The superb ruby was on her finger. But on the
third finger of her left hand he saw a large glowing opal. His
eyes fastened upon it with a more brilliant glitter. They
looked at her too so strangely that Grace Plumer felt troubled
and half alarmed. “Am I too late?” he thought.
“Miss Grace,” said Abel, in a low voice.
The tone was significant.
“Mr. Newt,” said she, with a half smile, as if she accepted
a contest of badinage.
“Do you remember I said I was perfectly happy?”
He moved his chair a little nearer to hers. She drew back
almost imperceptibly.
“I remember you said so, and I was very glad to hear it.”
“Do you remember my theory of perfect happiness?”
“Yes,” said Miss Plumer, calmly, “I believe it was perfect
love. But I think we had better talk of something else;” and
she rose from her chair and stood by the table.
“Miss Plumer!”
“Mr. Newt.”
“It was you who first emboldened me.”
“I do not understand, Sir.”
“It was a long time ago, in my mother's conservatory.”
Grace Plumer remembered the evening, and she replied,
more softly,
“I am very sorry, Mr. Newt, that I behaved so foolishly:
I was young. But I think we did each other no harm.”
“No harm, I trust, indeed, Miss Grace,” said Abel. “It is
surely no harm to love; at least, not as I love you.”
He too had risen, and tried to take her hand. She stepped
back. He pressed toward her.
“Grace; dear Grace!”
“Stop, Sir, stop!” said his companion, drawing herself up and
waving him back; “I can not hear you talk so. I am engaged.”
Abel turned pale. Grace Plumer was frightened. He
sprang forward and seized her hand.
“Oh! Grace, hear me but one word! You knew that I
loved you, and you allowed me to come. In honor, in truth,
before God, you are mine!”
She struggled to release her hand. As she looked in his
face she saw there an expression which assured her that he
was capable of saying any thing, of doing any thing; and she
trembled to think how much she might be—how much any
woman is—in the power of a desperate man.
“Indeed, Mr. Newt, you must let me go!”
“Grace, Grace, say that you love me!”
The frightened girl broke away from him, and ran toward
the door. Abel followed her, but the door opened, and Sligo
Moultrie entered.
“Oh, Sligo!” cried Grace, as he put his arm around her.
Abel stopped and bowed.
“Pardon me, Miss Plumer. Certainly Mr. Moultrie will
understand the ardor of a passion which in his case has been
so fortunate. I am sorry, Sir,” he said, turning to Sligo,
“that my ignorance of your relation to Miss Plumer should
have betrayed me. I congratulate you both from my soul!”
He bowed again, and before they could speak he was gone.
The tone of his voice lingering upon their ears was like a hiss.
It was a most sinister felicitation.
