! wordnetanger was hereditary in his family--had it
come to him on his wedding-day of all days? On his wedding-day the
last remnant of reason had deserted him, and he had deserted _her_.
She sat quite still,--the light of the candles falling upon her, upon
the fatal letter,--trying to steady herself, trying to think. She read
it again and again; surely no sane man ever wrote such a letter as
this. "A dreadful secret of sin, and , and , is involved."
Did that dreadful secret mean the secret of his mother's death? But
why should that cause him to leave her? She knew all about it already.
What frightful revelation had been made to him on his father's dying
bed? He had never been the same man since. An idea flashed across her
brain--dreadful and unnatural enough in all --but why should
even _that_, supposing her suspicions to be true, cause him to leave
her? "If I loved you less, I might dare to stay with you." What
rhodomontade was this? Men prove their wordnetdesire by living with the women
they marry, not by deserting them. Oh, he was mad, mad, mad--not