Collins_Man_and_Wife.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
fell helpless; his whole body, on the side under
the arm, gave way. dropped on the floor, like a man shot dead.
pounced on his prostrate body--knelt on his
broad breast--and fastened her ten fingers on his throat.
* * * * * *
shock of the fall woke on the instant. started
up--looked round--and saw a gap in the wall at the head of her
bed, and the candle-light glimmering in the next room.
-stricken; doubting, for the moment, if she were in her
right mind, she drew back, waiting--listening--looking. saw
nothing but the glimmering light in the room; she heard nothing
but a hoarse gasping, as of some person laboring for breath.
sound ceased. was an interval of silence. the head of
rose slowly into sight through the gap in the
wall--rose with the glittering light of madness in the eyes, and
looked at her.
flew to the open window, and screamed for help.
's voice answered her, from the road in front of the
cottage.
" for me, for 's sake!" she cried.
fled from the room, and rushed down the stairs. another
moment, she had opened the door, and was out in the front garden.
she ran to the gate, she heard the voice of a strange man on
the other side of it. called to her encouragingly.
" police man is with us," he said. " patrols the garden at
night--he has a key." he spoke the gate was opened from the
outside. saw , , and the policeman.
staggered toward them as they came in--she was just able to say,
" stairs!" before her senses failed her. saved her
from falling. placed her on the bench in the garden, and
waited by her, while and the policeman hurried into the
cottage.
" first?" asked .
" room the lady called from," said the policeman
mounted the stairs, and entered 's room. gap in the
wall was instantly observed by both of them. looked through
it.
's dead body lay on the floor.
was kneeling at his head, praying.
.
.
.
newspapers have announced the return of and
to their residence in , after an absence on the
continent of more than six months.
is the height of the season. day long, within the
canonical hours, the door of is perpetually
opening to receive visitors. vast majority leave their cards,
and go away again. privileged individuals only, get out
of their carriages, and enter the house.
these last, arriving at an earlier hour than is customary,
is a person of distinction who is positively bent on seeing
either the master or the mistress of the house, and who will take
no denial. this person is parleying with the chief of the
servants , , passing from one room to another,
happens to cross the inner end of the hall. person instantly
darts at him with a cry of " !" turns,
and sees-- !
is fairly caught, and he gives way with his best grace. he
opens the door of the nearest room for her ladyship, he furtively
consults his watch, and says in his inmost soul, " am to get
rid of her before the others come?"
settles down on a sofa in a whirlwind of silk and
lace, and becomes, in her own majestic way, "perfectly charming."
makes the most affectionate inquiries about ,
about the , about himself.
have they been? what have they seen? have time and change helped
them to recover the shock of that dreadful event, to which
dare not more particularly allude? answers
resignedly, and a little absently. makes polite inquiries, on
his side, as to her ladyship's plans and proceedings--with a mind
uneasily conscious of the inexorable lapse of time, and of
certain probabilities which that lapse may bring with it.
has very little to say about herself. is only in town
for a few weeks. life is a life of retirement. " modest
round of duties at , ; occasionally
relieved, when my mind is overworked, by the society of a few
earnest friends whose views harmonize with my own--my existence
passes (not quite uselessly, hope) in that way. have no news;
see nothing--except, indeed, yesterday, a sight of the saddest
kind." pauses there. observes that he is expected to
make inquiries, and makes them accordingly.
hesitates; announces that her news refers to that
painful past event which she has already touched on; acknowledges
that she could not find herself in without feeling an act
of duty involved in making inquiries at the asylum in which
is confined for life; announces that she has not
only made the inquiries, but has seen the unhappy woman herself;
has spoken to her, has found her unconscious of her dreadful
position, incapable of the smallest exertion of memory, resigned
to the existence that she leads, and likely (in the opinion of
the medical superintendent) to live for some years to come.
stated these facts, her ladyship is about to make a few of
those "remarks appropriate to the occasion," in which she excels,
when the door opens; and , in search of her
missing husband, enters the room.
.
is a new outburst of affectionate interest on 's
part--met civilly, but not cordially, by .
's wife seems, like , to be uneasily conscious of the
lapse of time. again, she privately wonders how long
is going to stay.
shows no signs of leaving the sofa. has evidently
come to to say something--and she has not said
it yet. she going to say it? . is going to get, by a
roundabout way, to the object in view. has another inquiry of
the affectionate sort to make. she be permitted to resume the
subject of and 's travels? have been at
. they confirm the shocking intelligence which has
reached her of the "apostasy" of . ?
can confirm it, by personal xexperience. .
has renounced the world, and has taken refuge in the
bosom of the . has seen her
in a convent at . is passing through the period of her
probation; and she is resolved to take the veil. , as
a good , lifts her hands in horror--declares the topic
to be too painful to dwell on--and, by way of varying it, goes
straight to the point at last. , in the
course of her continental experience, happened to meet with, or
to hear of--. ?
" have ceased, as you know, to hold any communication with my
relatives," explains. " course they took at the
time of our family trial--the sympathy they felt with a
whom can not even now trust myself to name more
particularly--alienated us from each other. may be grieved,
dear ; but bear no malice. shall always
feel a motherly interest in hearing of 's welfare. have
been told that she and her husband were traveling, at the time
when you and were traveling. you meet with
them?"
and his wife looked at each other. is
dumb. replies:
" saw . and . at , and afterward
at , . returned to a week since, in
anticipation of a certain happy event, which will possibly
increase the members of your family circle. are now in
. , may tell you that we expect them here to lunch
to-day."
made this plain statement, looks at
. ( _that_ doesn't hasten her departure, nothing will!)
useless! holds her ground. heard
absolutely nothing of her relatives for the last six months, she
is burning with curiosity to hear more. is a name she has
not mentioned yet. places a certain constraint upon herself,
and mentions it now.
" ?" says her ladyship, subsiding into a gentle
melancholy, suggestive of past injuries condoned by
forgiveness. " only know what report tells me. you meet with
at and , also?"
and his wife look at each other again. clock in the
hall strikes. shudders. 's patience begins
to give way. is an awkward pause. must say
something. before, replies " went
abroad, , with his niece and her husband; and
has come back with them."
" good health?" her ladyship inquires.
" than ever," rejoins.
smiles satirically. notices the
smile; decides that mercy shown to _this_ woman is mercy
misplaced; and announces (to her husband's horror) that she has
news to tell of , which will probably take his
sister-in-law by surprise.
waits eagerly to hear what the news is.
" is no secret," proceeds--"though it is only
known, as yet to a few intimate friends. has made an
important change in his life."
's charming smile suddenly dies out.
" is not only a very clever and a very agreeable man,"
resumes a little maliciously; "he is also, in all
his habits and ways (as you well know), a man younger than his
years--who still possesses many of the qualities which seldom
fail to attract women."
starts to her feet.
" don't mean to tell me, , that is
married?"
" do."
ladyship drops back on the sofa; helpless really and truly
helpless, under the double blow that has fallen on her. is
not only struck out of her place as the chief woman of the
family, but (still on the right side of forty) she is socially
superannuated, as , for the rest of her
life!
" his age!" she exclaims, as soon as she can speak.
" me for reminding you," answers, "that
plenty of men marry at 's age. his case, it is only
due to him to say that his motive raises him beyond the reach of
ridicule or reproach. marriage is a good action, in the
highest sense of the word. does honor to _him,_ as well as to
the lady who shares his position and his name."
" young girl, of course!" is 's next remark.
". woman who has been tried by no common suffering, and who
has borne her hard lot nobly. woman who deserves the calmer and
the happier life on which she is entering now."
" ask who she is?"
the question can be answered, a knock at the house door
announces the arrival of visitors. the third time, and
his wife look at each other. this occasion, interferes.
" wife has already told you, , that we expect .
and . to lunch. , and the new
, accompany them. am mistaken in supposing that it
might not be quite agreeable to you to meet them, can only ask
your pardon. am right, will leave to
receive our friends, and will do myself the honor of taking you
into another room."
advances to the door of an inner room. offers his arm to
. ladyship stands immovable; determined to see the
woman who has supplanted her. a moment more, the door of
entrance from the hall is thrown open; and the servant announces,
" and . . and . ."
looks at the woman who has taken her place at the
head of the family; and sees-- !