only been forewarned. He felt now that he must temporize, that he must

gain time. There was danger in Laura's tone. There was something

frightful in her calmness. Her steady eyes seemed to devour him.

You have ruined my life," she said; "and I was so young, so ignorant,

and loved you so. You betrayed me, and left me mocking me and trampling

me into the dust, a soiled cast-off. You might better have killed me

then. Then I should not have hated you."

"Laura," said the Colonel, nerving himself, but still pale, and speaking

appealingly, "don't say that. Reproach me. I deserve it. I was a

scoundrel. I was everything monstrous. But your beauty made me crazy.

You are right. I was a brute in leaving you as I did. But what could I

do? I was married, and--"

And your wife still lives?" asked Laura, bending a little forward in her

eagerness.

The Colonel noticed the action, and he almost said "no," but he thought

of the folly of attempting concealment.

"Yes. She is here."

What little color had wandered back into Laura's face forsook it again.

Her heart stood still, her strength seemed going from her limbs. Her

last hope was gone. The room swam before her for a moment, and the

406

The Gilded Age