He was a man of about forty, with colourless fair hair, bald
at the temples, an excessively pale face, a pair of piercing light eyes
and a prominent forehead, on which a network of veins stood out. He had
his name of Heathfield from that lieutenant-general who was the hero of
the defence of Gibraltar and afterwards immortalised by the brush of Sir
Joshua Reynolds.
What part had this man in Elena's life? What ties, beyond the convention
of marriage, bound her to him? What transformations had the physical and
moral contact of this husband brought to pass in her?
These enigmas rose tumultuously before him, making his pain so
intolerable, that he started up with the instinctive bound of a man who
has been stabbed unawares. He crossed the room to the ante-chamber and
listened at the door which he had left ajar. It was on the stroke of a
quarter to five.
The next moment he heard footsteps on the stair, the rustle of skirts
and a quick panting breath. A woman was coming up hurriedly. His heart
beat with such vehemence that--his nerves all unstrung by his long
suspense--he felt hardly able to stand on his feet. The steps drew
nearer, there was a long-drawn sigh--a step upon the landing--at the
door--Elena entered.
'O Elena--at last!'
There was in that cry such a profound accent of agony endured, that it
brought to Elena's lips an indescribable smile, mingled of pleasure and
pity.
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