THE SILVER CORD.
BY SHIRLEY BROOKS.
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CHAPTER XXXII.
“What will become of me?” exclaimed Bertha, as the sound of her husband’s footsteps ceased. “He knows all. I am lost.”
“Why do you talk such folly?” said Mrs. Lygon, impatiently. “What more has Robert learned than he knew ten minutes ago, when you were going to meet him, except that I, whom he supposed on my way to England, am still in his house? Be calm, Bertha.”
“This agitation will be too much for me to bear,” said Mrs. Urquhart, in her helpless manner. “I shall break down under it.”
“Give way now,” said her sister, in an undertone of strong determination—almost menace, “and we never speak to one another again in this world.”
Bertha merely gazed on her; and, indeed, seemed deprived of all power of action.
“Listen, Bertha. It will now be for me to explain to Robert why I am here again. You thought that I had left for England. There, it is dreadful to have to say what is false, but saying that is the simplest thing for you to do, and I see well that you can do no more. You must leave the rest to me.”
“Oh, why did you ever come here?” replied Bertha, repiningly.
“Bertha!”
The word was repeated, but in another and a sterner tone. Mr. Urquhart was heard summoning his wife.
“I will go,” said Laura.
“Bertha will come,” replied Robert Urquhart, in a voice which awed even Laura, and which his wife, in white terror, hastened to obey. With a piteous gesture of her hands, she went through the doorway into the larger apartment. There Robert received her, and with an imperative sign motioned her to precede him. They went up to