"Helen! explain this mystery!" he exclaimed, grasping her hand, and
drawing her to the window. "Are your cosmetics all poisons as deadly
as that?"
"Walter! this is horrible! Poison? Why, Walter, it might have killed
me!" she gasped, hiding her pallid face in his bosom.
"Helen, answer me, by the love and trust I bear you, did you know that
the contents of that _flacon_ were poisonous? Look up, dear Helen, and
answer me, yes or no."
"No, Walter--on my honor, no. You have saved me from a horrible
death," she replied, raising her head, and looking, with a strong
effort into his eyes.
Thus was Helen driven, with scourges, by her task-master, the great
tempter of souls, into slough after slough, from which, there was but
one escape, and that lay through a rugged way, called REPENTANCE. But
repentance, to her vision, was like a shoreless ocean, or a fierce
deity to whose exacting nature she must sacrifice all that she held
dear on earth, or perish. But her husband's love and esteem--her
ill-gotten riches--her position--her luxuries! Could she live without
them? _If she could repent without making restitution_, she would.
But she well knew that such repentance would be fruitless. And thus,
while, to the world, she moved calmly in her proud beauty, and was
envied by the miserable, for the apparent happiness and splendor of her
lot, a fierce beast was tugging at her heart-strings, more savage than
that which tore the vitals of the boy of Lacedaemon.
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