"I have given you a long time to come to your senses and leave my
house. Now my patience is exhausted, and I require you to depart.
You are not embarrassed for a home or a support: if you were I
should afford you both, on condition of your departure from
America. But my whole patrimony would be but a mite added to your
treasures.
"You have country-seats in England, Scotland, and Ireland, as well
as a town house in London, a marine villa at Boulougne, and a Swiss
cottage on Lake Leman. All these are your own; and you shall never
be molested by me in your exclusive possession of them. Choose your
residence from among them, and leave me in peaceable possession of
the one modest countryhouse I have inherited in my native land. I
wish to sell it.
"But you doubtless have informed yourself before this time, that by
the laws of the State in which my property is situated, a man
cannot sell his homestead without the consent of his wife. Your
co-operation is therefore necessary in the sale of Brudenell Hall.
I wish you to put yourself in immediate communication with my
solicitors, Messrs. Kage & Kage, Monument Street, Baltimore, who
are in possession of my instructions. Do this promptly, and win
from me the only return you have left it in my power to make
you--oblivion of your crimes and of yourself.
"Herman Brudenell."
With the calmness of despair Berenice read this cruel letter through to
the end, and dropped it on her lap, and sat staring at it in silence.
Then, as if incredulous of its contents, or doubtful of its meaning, she
took it up and read it again, and again let it fall. And yet a third
time--after rapidly passing her hand to and fro across her forehead, as
if that action would clear her vision--she raised, re-perused, and laid
aside the letter. Then she firmly set her teeth, and slowly nodded her
head, while for an instant a startling light gleamed from her deep black
eyes.
Her faithful attendant, while seeming to be busy arranging the flasks on
the dressing-table, furtively and anxiously watched her mistress, who at
last spoke: "Phoebe!"
"Yes, my lady."
"Bring me a glass of wine."
The girl brought the required stimulant, and in handing it to her
mistress noticed how deadly white her face had become. And as the
countess took the glass from the little silver waiter her hand came in
contact with that of Phoebe, and the girl felt as if an icicle had
touched her, so cold it was.