Gertrude's eyes were on the child.
The swiftness with which Henry drove by could not hide from his
wife the striking resemblance of the child to himself. The young
wife had heard the child exclaim "Papa! papa!" and she immediately
saw by the quivering of his lips and the agitation depicted in his
countenance, that all was not right.
"Who is that woman? and why did that child call you papa?" she
inquired, with a trembling voice.
Henry was silent; he knew not what to say, and without another word
passing between them, they drove home.
On reaching her room, Gertrude buried her face in her handkerchief
and wept. She loved Henry, and when she had heard from the lips
of her companions how their husbands had proved false, she felt
that he was an exception, and fervently thanked God that she had
been so blessed.
When Gertrude retired to her bed that night, the sad scene of the
day followed her. The beauty of Isabella, with her flowing curls,
and the look of the child, so much resembling the man whom she so
dearly loved, could not be forgotten; and little Clotelle's
exclamation of "Papa! Papa" rang in her ears during the whole
night.
The return of Henry at twelve o'clock did not increase her
happiness. Feeling his guilt, he had absented himself from the
house since his return from the ride.
CHAPTER XI
TO-DAY A MISTRESS, TO-MORROW A SLAVE
THE night was dark, the rain, descended in torrents from the black
and overhanging clouds, and the thunder, accompanied with vivid
flashes of lightning, resounded fearfully, as Henry Linwood
stepped from his chaise and entered Isabella's cottage.
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