CHAPTER III.
EVA.
Felix had not inherited his father's incapacity for making money. In thetwenty years that had passed since Thomas had been abroad he had builtup a fortune, which he could not induce his father to share, but whichthat father was perfectly willing to see devoted to their mutualrevenge. There was meaning, therefore, in the injunction Felix gave hisbrother on his departure for Montgomery:
"I have money; spend it; spend what you will, and when your task iscompleted, there will still be some left for your amusement."
Thomas bowed. "The laborer is worthy of his hire," was his thought. "Andyou?" he asked, looking about the scanty walls, which seemed to havelost their very excuse for being now that his father had died. "Will youremain here?"
Felix's answer was abrupt, but positive. "No; I go to New Yorkto-morrow. I have rented a house there, which you may one day wish toshare. The name under which I have leased it is Adams, Felix Adams. Assuch you will address me. Cadwalader is a name that must not leave yourlips in Montgomery, nor must you forget that my person is known there,otherwise we might not have been dependent on you for the success of ourrevenge." And he smiled, fully conscious of being the handsomer man ofthe two. "And now how about those introductions we enjoined you to bringfrom Paris?"
* * * * *
The history of the next few weeks can best be understood by readingcertain letters sent by Thomas to Felix, by examining a diary drawn upby the same writer for his own relief and satisfaction. The letters willbe found on the left, and the diary on the right, of the double columnshereby submitted. The former are a summary of facts; the latter is asummary of feelings. Both are necessary to a right comprehension of thesituation.
* * * * *
FIRST LETTER.
DEAR FELIX:
I am here; I have seen her. She is, as you have said, a pale blonde.To-morrow I present my credentials to John Poindexter. From what I havealready experienced I anticipate a favorable reception.
Yours aff., THOMAS.
FIRST ENTRY.
I could not write Felix the true story of this day. Why? And why must Iwrite it here? To turn my mind from dwelling on it? Perhaps. I do notseem to understand my own feelings, or why I begin to dread my task,while ardently pressing forward to accomplish it.
I have seen her. This much I wrote to Felix, but I did not say where ourmeeting took place or how. How could I? Would he understand how one ofPoindexter's blood could be employed in a gracious act, or how I, filledwith a purpose that has made my heart dark as hell ever since I embracedit, could find that heart swell and that purpose sink at my firstglimpse of the face whose beauty I have sworn to devote to agony andtears? Surely, surely Felix would have been stronger, and yet----
I went from the cars to the cemetery. Before entering the town or seeingto my own comfort, I sought Evelyn's grave, there to renew my oath inthe place where, nineteen years ago, my father held me up, afour-year-old child, in threat, toward John Poindexter's home. I hadsucceeded in finding the old and neglected stone which marked herresting-place, and was bending in the sunset light to examine it, whenthe rustle of a woman's skirts attracted my attention, and I perceivedadvancing toward me a young girl in a nimbus of rosy light which seemedto lift her from the ground and give to her delicate figure andstrangely illumined head an ethereal aspect which her pure features andtender bearing did not belie. In her arms she carried a huge cluster ofsnow-white lilies, and when I observed that her eyes were directed noton me, but on the grave beside which I stood, I moved aside into theshadow of some bushes and watched her while she strewed theseflowers--emblems of innocence--over the grave I had just left.
What did it mean, and who was this young girl who honored with suchgracious memorials the grave of my long-buried sister? As she rose fromher task I could no longer restrain either my emotion or the curiositywith which her act had inspired me. Advancing, I greeted her with allthe respect her appearance called for, and noting that her face was evenmore beautiful when lifted in speech than when bent in gravity over herflowers, I asked her, in the indifferent tone of a stranger, who wasburied in this spot, and why she, a mere girl, dropped flowers upon agrave the mosses of whose stone proved it to have been dug long beforeshe was born.
Her answer caused me a shock, full as my life has lately been ofstartling experiences. "I strew flowers here," said she, "because thegirl who lies buried under this stone had the same birthday as myself. Inever saw her, it's true, but she died in my father's house when she wasno older than I am to-day, and since I have become a woman and realizewhat loss there is in dying young, I have made it a custom to share withher my birthday flowers. She was a lily, they say, in appearance andcharacter, and so I bring her lilies."
It was Eva Poindexter, the girl I--And she was strewing flowers onEvelyn's grave.
* * * * *
LETTER II.
DEAR FELIX:
I have touched the hand of John Poindexter. In order to win a place inthe good graces of the daughter I must please the father, or at leastattract his favorable notice. I have reason to think I have done this.
Very truly, THOMAS.
ENTRY II.
I no longer feel myself a true man. John Poindexter is cold inappearance, hard in manner, and inflexible in opinion, but he does notinspire the abhorrence I anticipated nor awaken in me the one thoughtdue to the memory of my sister. Is it because he is Eva's father? Hasthe loveliness of the daughter cast a halo about the parent? If so,Felix has a right to execrate me and my father to----
* * * * *
LETTER III.
DEAR FELIX:
The introductions furnished me have made me received everywhere. Thereis considerable wealth here and many fine houses. Consequently I findmyself in a congenial society, of which she is the star. Did I say thathe was, as of old, the chief man of the town?
Yours truly, THOMAS.
ENTRY III.
She is beautiful. She has the daintiness of the lily and the flush ofthe rose. But it is not her beauty that moves me; it is the strangesweetness of her nature, which, nevertheless, has no weakness in it; onthe contrary, it possesses peculiar strength, which becomes instantlyapparent at the call of duty. Could Felix have imagined such aPoindexter? I cannot contemplate such loveliness and associate it withthe execrable sin which calls down vengeance upon this house. I cannoteven dwell upon my past life. All that is dark, threatening, secret, andrevengeful slips from me under her eye, and I dream of what is pure,true, satisfying, and ennobling. And this by the influence of her smile,rather than of her words. Have I been given an angel to degrade? Or am Iso blind as to behold a saint where others (Felix, let us say) would seeonly a pretty woman with unexpected attractions?
* * * * *
LETTER IV.
DEAR FELIX:
Rides, dances, games, nonsense generally. My interest in this young girlis beginning to be publicly recognized. She alone seems ignorant of it.Sometimes I wonder if our scheme will fail through her impassibility andmore than conventional innocence. I am sometimes afraid she will neverlove me. Yet I have exerted myself to please her. Indeed, I could nothave exerted myself more. To-day I went twenty-five miles on horsebackto procure her a trifle she fancied.
Yours aff., THOMAS.
ENTRY IV.
All will not go as easily as Felix imagines. Eva Poindexter may be acountry girl, but she has her standards, too, and mere grace andattainment are not sufficient to win her. Have I the other qualities shedemands? That remains to be seen. I have one she never dreams of. Willits shadow so overwhelm the rest that her naturally pure spirit willshrink from me just at the moment when I think her mine? I cannot tell,and the doubt creates a hell within me. Something deeper, stronger, moreimperious than my revenge makes the winning of this girl's heart anecessity to me. I have forgotten my purpose in this desire. I haveforgotten everyt
hing except that she is the one woman of my life, andthat I can never rest till her heart is wholly mine. Good God! Have Ibecome a slave where I hoped to be master? Have I, Thomas Cadwalader,given my soul into the keeping of this innocent girl? I do not even stopto inquire. To win her--that is all for which I now live.
* * * * *
LETTER V.
DEAR FELIX:
She may not care for me, but she is interested in no one else. Of this Iam assured by John Poindexter, who seems very desirous of aiding me inmy attempt to win his daughter's heart. Hard won, close bound. If sheever comes to love me it will be with the force of a very strong nature.The pale blonde has a heart.
Yours aff., THOMAS.
ENTRY V.
If it were passion only that I feel, I might have some hope ofrestraining it. But it is something more, something deeper, somethingwhich constrains me to look with her eyes, hear with her ears, and throbwith her heart. My soul, rather than my senses, is enthralled. I want towin her, not for my own satisfaction, but to make her happy. I want toprove to her that goodness exists in this world--I, who came here tocorrode and destroy; I, who am still pledged to do so. Ah, Felix, Felix,you should have chosen an older man for your purpose, or remembered thathe who could be influenced as I was by family affections possesses aheart too soft for such infamy.
* * * * *
ENTRY VI.
The name of Evelyn is never mentioned in this house. Sometimes I thinkthat he has forgotten her, and find in this thought the one remainingspur to my revenge. Forgotten her! Strange, that his child, born longafter his victim's death, should remember this poor girl, and he forget!Yet on the daughter the blow is planned to fall--if it does fall. ShouldI not pray that it never may? That she should loathe instead of love me?Distrust, instead of confide in my honor and affection? But who can prayagainst himself? Eva Poindexter must love me, even if I am driven toself-destruction by my own remorse, after she has confided her heart tomy keeping.
* * * * *
LETTER VI.
DEAR FELIX:
Will you send me a few exquisite articles from Tiffany's? I see that herfather expects me to give her presents. I think she will accept them. Ifshe does, we may both rest easy as to the state of her affections.
Very truly, THOMAS.
ENTRY VII.
I cannot bring myself to pass a whole day away from her side. If Felixwere here and could witness my assiduity, he would commend me in hiscold and inflexible heart for the singleness with which I pursue mypurpose. He would say to me, in the language of one of his letters: "Youare not disappointing us." Us! As if our father still hovered near,sharing our purposes and hope. Alas! if he does, he must penetrate moredeeply than Felix into the heart of this matter; must see that withevery day's advantage--and I now think each day brings its advantage--Ishrink further and further from the end they planned for me; the endwhich can alone justify my advance in her affections. I am a traitor tomy oath, for I now know I shall never disappoint Eva's faith in me. Icould not. Rather would I meet my father's accusing eyes on the verge ofthat strange world to which he has gone, or Felix's recriminations here,or my own contempt for the weakness which has made it possible for me todraw back from the brink of this wicked revenge to which I have devotedmyself.
* * * * *
LETTER VII.
DEAR FELIX:
This morning I passed under the window you have described to me asEvelyn's. I did it with a purpose. I wanted to test my own emotions andto see how much feeling it would arouse in me. Enough.
Eva accepted the brooch. It was the simplest thing you sent.
Aff., THOMAS.
ENTRY VIII.
I hate John Poindexter, yes, I hate him, but I can never hate hisdaughter. Only Felix could so confound the father with the child as tovisit his anger upon this gentle embodiment of all that is gracious, allthat is trustworthy, all that is fascinating in woman. But am I calledupon to hate her? Am I not in a way required to love her? I will askFelix. No, I cannot ask Felix. He would never comprehend her charm orits influence over me. He would have doubts and come at once toMontgomery. Good God! Am I proving such a traitor to my own flesh andblood that I cannot bear to think of Felix contemplating even in secretthe unsuspicious form of his enemy's daughter?
* * * * *
LETTER VIII.
DEAR FELIX:
A picnic on the mountains. It fell to me to escort Miss Poindexter downa dangerous slope. Though no words of affection passed between us (sheis not yet ready for them), I feel that I have made a decided advance inher good graces.
Yours, THOMAS.
ENTRY IX.
I have touched her hand! I have felt her sweet form thrilling againstmine as we descended the mountain ledges together! No man was near, noeye--there were moments in which we were as much alone in the wideparadise of these wooded slopes as if the world held no other breathingsoul. Yet I no more dared to press her hand, or pour forth the madworship of my heart into her innocent ears, than if the eyes of allParis had been upon us. How I love her! How far off and faint seem theyears of that dead crime my brother would invoke for the punishment ofthis sweet soul! Yes, and how remote that awful hour in which I kneltbeneath the hand of my dying father and swore--Ah, that oath! That oath!
* * * * *
ENTRY X.
The thing I dreaded, the thing I might have foreseen, has occurred.Felix has made his appearance in Montgomery. I received a communicationto that effect from him to-day; a communication in which he commands meto meet him to-night, at Evelyn's grave, at the witching hour of twelve.I do not enjoy the summons. I have a dread of Felix, and begin to thinkhe calculates upon stage devices to control me. But the day has passedfor that. I will show him that I can be no more influenced in that placeand at that hour than I could be in this hotel room, with the sight ofher little glove--is there sin in such thefts?--lying on the tablebefore us. Evelyn! She is a sacred memory. But the dead must notinterfere with the living. Eva shall never be sacrificed to Evelyn'smanes, not if John Poindexter lives out his life to his last hour inpeace; not if Felix--well; I need to play the man; Felix is a formidableantagonist to meet, alone, in a spot of such rancorous memories, at anhour when spirits--if there be spirits--haunt the precincts of the tomb.
* * * * *
ENTRY XI.
I should not have known Felix had I met him in the street. How much of astranger he appeared, then, in the faint moonlight which poured uponthat shaded spot! His very voice seemed altered, and in his manner Iremarked a hesitation I had not supposed him capable of showing underany circumstances. Nor were his words such as I expected. The questionsI dreaded most he did not ask. The recriminations I looked for he didnot utter. He only told me coldly that my courtship must be shortened;that the end for which we were both prepared must be hastened, and gaveme two weeks in which to bring matters to a climax. Then he turned toEvelyn's grave, and bending down, tried to read her name on the mossystone. He was so long in doing this that I leaned down beside him andlaid my hand on his shoulder. He was trembling, and his body was as coldas the stone he threw himself against. Was it the memory of her whomthat stone covered which had aroused this emotion? If so, it was butnatural. To all appearance he has never in all his life loved any one ashe did this unhappy sister; and struck with a respect for the griefwhich has outlived many a man's lifetime, I was shrinking back when hecaught my hand, and with a convulsive strain, contrasting strongly withhis tone, which was strangely measured, he cried, "Do not forget theend! Do not forget John Poindexter! his sin, his indifference to myfather's grief; the accumulated sufferings of years which made AmosCadwalader a hermit amongst men. I have seen the girl; she haschanged--women do change at her age--and some men, I do not say you, butsome men might think her beautiful. But beauty, if she has it, must notblind your
eyes, which are fixed upon another goal. Overlook it;overlook her--you have done so, have you not? Pale beauties cannot moveone who has sat at the feet of the most dazzling of Parisian women. Keepyour eyes on John Poindexter, the debt he owes us, and the suffering wehave promised him. That she is sweet, gentle, different from all wethought her, only makes the chances of reaching his heart the greater.The worthier she may be of affections not indigenous to that hard soul,the surer will be our grip upon his nature and the heavier hisdownfall."
The old spell was upon me. I could neither answer nor assert myself.Letting go my hand, he rose, and with his back to the village--I noticedhe had not turned his face to it since coming to this spot--he said: "Ishall return to New York to-morrow. In two weeks you will telegraph yourreadiness to take up your abode with me. I have a home that will satisfyyou; and it will soon be all your own."
Here he gripped his heart; and, dark as it was, I detected a strangeconvulsion cross his features as he turned into the moonlight. But itwas gone before we could descend.
"You may hear from me again," he remarked somewhat faintly as he graspedmy hand, and turned away in his own direction. I had not spoken a wordduring the whole interview.
* * * * *
LETTER IX.
DEAR FELIX:
I do not hear from you. Are you well, or did your journey affect yourhealth? I have no especial advance to report. John Poindexter seemsgreatly interested in my courtship. Sometimes he gives me very goodadvice. How does that strike you, Felix?
Aff., THOMAS.
ENTRY XII.
I shall never understand Felix. He has not left the town, but is stayinghere in hiding, watching me, no doubt, to see if the signs of weakeninghe doubtless suspects in me have a significance deep enough to overthrowhis planned revenge. I know this, because I have seen him more than onceduring the last week, when he thought himself completely invisible. Ihave caught sight of him in Mr. Poindexter's grounds when Eva and Istood talking together in the window. I even saw him once in church, ina dark corner, to be sure, but where he could keep his eye upon us,sitting together in Mr. Poindexter's pew. He seemed to me thin that day.The suspense he is under is wearing upon him. Is it my duty to cut itshort by proclaiming my infidelity to my oath and my determination tomarry the girl who has made me forget it?
* * * * *
LETTER X.
DEAR FELIX:
Miss Poindexter has told me unreservedly that she cares for me. Are yousatisfied with me now?
In haste, THOMAS.
ENTRY XIII.
She loves me. Oh, ecstasy of life! Eva Poindexter loves me. I forced itfrom her lips to-day. With my arms around her and her head on myshoulder, I urged her to confession, and it came. Now let Felix do whathe will! What is old John Poindexter to me? Her father. What are AmosCadwalader's hatred and the mortal wrong that called so loudly forrevenge? Dead issues, long buried sorrows, which God may remember, butwhich men are bound to forget. Life, life with her! That is the futuretoward which I look; that is the only vengeance I will take, the onlyvengeance Evelyn can demand if she is the angel we believe her. I willwrite to Felix to-morrow.
* * * * *
ENTRY XIV.
I have not written Felix. I had not the courage.
* * * * *
ENTRY XV.
I have had a dream. I thought I saw the meeting of my father with thewhite shade of Evelyn in the unimaginable recesses of that world towhich both have gone. Strange horrors, stranger glories met as theirseparate paths crossed, and when the two forms had greeted and parted, aline of light followed the footsteps of the one and a trail of gloomthose of the other. As their ways divided, I heard my father cry:
"There is no spot on your garments, Evelyn. Can it be that the wrongs ofearth are forgotten here? That mortals remember what the angels forget,and that our revenge is late for one so blessed?"
I did not hear the answer, for I woke; but the echo of those words hasrung in my ears all day. "Is our revenge late for one so blessed?"
* * * * *
ENTRY XVI.
I have summoned up courage. Felix has been here again, and the truth hasat last been spoken between us. I had been pressing Eva to name ourwedding day, and we were all standing--that is, John Poindexter, my deargirl, and myself--in the glare of the drawing-room lights, when I hearda groan, too faint for other ears to catch, followed by a light fallfrom the window overlooking the garden. It was Felix. He had beenwatching us, had seen my love, heard me talk of marriage, and must nowbe in the grounds in open frenzy, or secret satisfaction, it was hard totell which. Determined to know, determined to speak, I excused myself onsome hurried plea, and searched the paths he knew as well as I. At lastI came upon him. He was standing near an old dial, where he had morethan once seen Eva and me together. He was very pale, deathly pale, itseemed to me, in the faint starlight shining upon that open place; buthe greeted me as usual very quietly and with no surprise, almost, infact, as if he knew I would recognize his presence and follow him.
"You are playing your role well," said he; "too well. What was that Iheard about your marrying?"
The time had come. I was determined to meet it with a man's courage. ButI found it hard. Felix is no easy man to cross, even in small things,and this thing is his life, nay, more--his past, present, and futureexistence.
I do not know who spoke first. There was some stammering, a few brokenwords; then I heard myself saying distinctly, and with a certain hardemphasis born of the restraint I put upon myself:
"I love her! I want to marry her. You must allow this. Then----"
I could not proceed. I felt the shock he had received almost as if ithad been communicated to me by contact. Something that was not of theearth seemed to pass between us, and I remember raising my hand as if toshield my face. And then, whether it was the blowing aside of somebranches which kept the moonlight from us, or because my eyesight wasmade clearer by my emotion, I caught one glimpse of his face and becameconscious of a great suffering, which at first seemed the wrenching ofmy own heart, but in another moment impressed itself upon me as that ofhis, Felix's.
I stood appalled.
My weakness had uprooted the one hope of his life, or so I thought; andthat he expressed this by silence made my heart yearn toward him for thefirst time since I recognized him as my brother. I tried to stammer someexcuse. I was glad when the darkness fell again, for the sight of hisbowed head and set features was insupportable to me. It seemed to makeit easier for me to talk; for me to dilate upon the purity, the goodnesswhich had robbed me of my heart in spite of myself. My heart! It seemeda strange word to pass between us two in reference to a Poindexter, butit was the only one capable of expressing the feeling I had for thisyoung girl. At last, driven to frenzy by his continued silence, whichhad something strangely moving in it, I cried:
"You have never loved a woman, Felix. You do not know what the passionis when it seizes upon a man jaded with the hollow pleasures of anirresponsible life. You cannot judge; therefore you cannot excuse. Youare made of iron----"
"Hush!" It was the first word he had spoken since I had opened my heartto him. "You do not know what you are saying, Thomas. Like all egotists,you think yourself alone in experience and suffering. Will you think sowhen I tell you that there was a time in my life when I did not sleepfor weeks; when the earth, the air, yes, and the heavens were full ofnothing but her name, her face, her voice? When to have held her in myarms, to have breathed into her ear one word of love, to have felt hercheek fall against mine in confidence, in passion, in hope, would havebeen to me the heaven which would have driven the devils from my soulforever? Thomas, will you believe I do not know the uttermost of all youare experiencing, when I here declare to you that there has been an hourin my life when, if I had felt she could have been brought to love me, Iwould have sacrificed Evelyn, my own soul, our father's hop
e, JohnPoindexter's punishment, and become the weak thing you are to-day, andgloried in it, I, Felix Cadwalader, the man of iron, who has never beenknown to falter? But, Thomas, I overcame that feeling. I crushed downthat love, and I call upon you to do the same. You may marry her,but----"
What stopped him? His own heart or my own impetuosity? Both, perhaps,for at that moment I fell at his feet, and seizing his hand, kissed itas I might a woman's. He seemed to grow cold and stiff under thisembrace, which showed both the delirium I was laboring under and therelief I had gotten from his words. When he withdrew his hand, I feelthat my doom was about to be spoken, and I was not wrong. It came inthese words:
"Thomas, I have yielded to your importunity and granted you thesatisfaction which under the same circumstances I would have deniedmyself. But it has not made me less hard toward you; indeed, the steelwith which you say my heart is bound seems tightening about it, as ifthe momentary weakness in which I have indulged called for revenge.Thomas, go on your way; make the girl your wife--I had rather you would,since she is--what she is--but after she has taken your name, after shebelieves herself secure in her honorable position and your love, thenyou are to remember our compact and your oath--back upon JohnPoindexter's care she is to be thrown, shortly, curtly, withoutexplanation or excuse; and if it costs you your life, you are to standfirm in this attitude, using but one weapon in the struggle which mayopen between you and her father, and that is, your name of Cadwalader.You will not need any other. Thomas, do you swear to this? Or must Idirect my own power against Eva Poindexter, and, by telling her yourmotive in courting her, make her hate you forever?"
"I will swear," I cried, overpowered by the alternative with which hethreatened me. "Give me the bliss of calling her mine, and I will followyour wishes in all that concerns us thereafter."
"You will?" There was a sinister tone in this ejaculation that gave ashock to my momentary complacency. But we are so made that ananticipated evil affects us less than an immediate one; and rememberingthat weeks must yet elapse, during which he or John Poindexter or evenmyself might die, I said nothing, and he went icily on:
"I give you two months, alone and untrammelled. Then you are to bringyour bride to my house, there to hear my final decision. There is to beno departure from this course. I shall expect you, Thomas; you and her.You can say that you are going to make her acquainted with yourbrother."
"I will be there," I murmured, feeling a greater oppression than when Itook the oath at my father's death-bed. "I will be there."
There was no answer. While I was repeating those four words, Felixvanished.
* * * * *
LETTER XI.
DEAR FELIX:
Have a fresh draft made. I need cigars, clothes, and--a wedding ring.But no, let me stop short there. We will be married without one, unlessyou force it upon us. Eva's color is blue.
Very truly, Thomas.
ENTRY XVII.
To-day I wrote again to Felix. He is at home, must be, for I haveneither seen nor felt his presence since that fateful night. What did Iwrite? I don't remember. I seem to be living in a dream. Everything isconfused about me but Eva's face, Eva's smile. They are blissfullyclear. Sometimes I wish they were not. Were they confused amid theseshadows, I might have stronger hope of keeping my word to Felix. Now, Ishall never keep it. Eva once my wife, separation between us will becomeimpossible. John Poindexter is ill.
* * * * *
LETTER XII.
DEAR FELIX:
Congratulations: visits from my neighbors; all the eclat we could wishor a true lover hate. The ring you sent fits as if made for her. I amcalled in all directions by a thousand duties. I am on exhibition, andevery one's curiosity must be satisfied.
In haste, THOMAS.
ENTRY XVIII.
The wedding is postponed. John Poindexter is very ill. Pray God, Felixhears nothing of this. He would come here; he would confront his enemyon his bed of sickness. He would denounce him, and Eva would be lost tome.
* * * * *
LETTER XIII.
DEAR FELIX:
Eva is not pleased with the arrangements which have been made for ourwedding. John Poindexter likes show; she does not. Which will carry theday?
Yours aff., THOMAS.
ENTRY XIX.
Mr. Poindexter is better, but our plans will have to be altered. We nowthink we will be married quietly, possibly in New York.
* * * * *
LETTER XIV.
DEAR FELIX:
A compromise has been effected. The wedding will be a quiet one, but notcelebrated here. As you cannot wish to attend it, I will not mention theplace or hour of my marriage, only say that on September 27th at 4P. M. you may expect my wife and myself at your house.
Aff., THOMAS.
ENTRY XX.
We have decided to be married in New York. Mr. Poindexter needs thechange, and Eva and I are delighted at the prospect of a privatewedding. Then we will be near Felix, but not to subject ourselves to hiswill. Oh, no!
* * * * *
ENTRY XXI.
Married! She is mine. And now to confront Felix with my determination tohold on to my happiness. How I love her, and how I pity him! JohnPoindexter's wickedness is forgotten, Evelyn but a fading memory. Thewhole world seems to hold but three persons--Eva, Felix, and myself. Howwill it end? We meet at his home to-morrow.