60. CHAPTER LX.
I will not go with thee;
I will instruct my sorrows to be proud.
— King John.
On the next morning, Vinal learned that his wife was ill,
and confined to her room in her father's house. On the day
following, he was told that she was no better; but on the
third morning, a letter, in her handwriting, was given him.
He opened it, and read as follows: —
I heard all. I have learned, at last, to know you. These
were your bad dreams! This was the cloud that overshadowed
you! No wonder that your eye was anxious, your
forehead wrinkled, and your cheek pale. To have led that
brave and loyal heart through months and years of anguish!
— to have buried him from the light of day! — to have
buried him in darkness and despair, if despair could ever touch
a soul like his! And there he would have been lost forever,
if you had had your will, — if a higher hand had not been
outstretched to save him. One whom you dared not meet
face to face; one as far above your sphere as the eagle is
above the serpent to which he likened you! You have taught
me how sin can cringe and cower under the anger of a true
and deeply outraged man. That I should have lived to hear
my husband called a villain! — and still live to tell him that
the word was just! My husband! You are
not my husband.
It was not a criminal, a traitorous wretch, whom I
pledged myself to love and honor. You have insnared me;
you have me, for a time, safely entangled in your meshes.
The same cause which led me to this yoke must withhold me
from casting it off. I cannot imbitter my father's dying moments.
I cannot bring distress and horror to his tranquil
death bed. For his sake, I will play the hypocrite, and
stoop to pass in the world's eye as your wife. For the few
weeks he has to live, I will lodge, if I must, under your roof;
I will sit, if I must, at your table; but when my father is
gone, let the world impute to me what blame it will, I will
leave you forever. You need not fear that I shall expose
your crimes. If
he could spare you, it does not become me
to speak. Live on, and make what atonement you may;
but meanwhile there is a gulf between us wider than death.
An accident, arising out of her very devotion to Vinal, had
made known his secret to her. In the anteroom which led
from the side passage of the hotel to his apartment, and
through which, on the morning of his interview with Morton,
she had intended to pass on her way out, was a table, covered
with books and engravings, with which the invalid had been
amusing his leisure. The sight of them reminded her that
she had promised to get for him a series of German etchings,
which he had expressed a wish to see. She seated herself,
to write a request to the friend who had them, that
he would send them to the hotel. Her hand was on the
bell, to call the servant, when the peculiarly emphatic and
earnest manner with which Vinal greeted some new visitor
caught her attention. The door had sprung ajar on the lock;
the speakers were very near it, and Morton's tone was none
of the softest. She remained as if charmed to her seat; and
every word fell on her ear as clearly as if she had stood in
the same room.
