Athalie

"I used to be afraid that a picturesque and vivid imagination coupled

with a certain amount of clairvoyance might seduce me to trickery and

charlatanism.

"But if it be charlatanism for a paleontologist to construct a fish

out of a single fossil scale, then there may be something of that

ability in me. For truly, Clive, I am often at a loss where to draw

the line between what I see and what I reason out--between my

clairvoyance and my deductions. And if I made mistakes I certainly

should be deeply alarmed. But--I don't," she added, laughing. "And so,

in regard to those two men last night, and in regard to what she and

they may be about, I feel not the least concern. And you must not.

Promise me, dear."

But he rose, anxious and depressed, and stood silent for a few

moments, her hands clasped tightly in his.

For he could see no way out of it, now. His wife, once merely

indifferent, was beginning to evince malice. And what further form

that malice might take he could not imagine; for hitherto, she had not

desired divorce, and had not concerned herself with him or his

behaviour.

As for Athalie, it was now too late for him to step out of her life.

He might have been capable of the sacrifice if the pain and

unhappiness were to be borne by him alone--or even if he could bring

himself to believe or even hope that it might be merely a temporary

sorrow to Athalie.

But he could not mistake her, now; their cords of love and life were

irrevocably braided together; and to cut one was to sever both. There

could be no recovery from such a measure for either, now.

What was he to do? The woman he had married had rejected his loyalty

from the very first, suffered none of his ideas of duty to move her

from her aloofness. She cared nothing for him, and she let him know

it; his notions of marriage, its duties and obligations merely aroused

in her contempt. And when he finally understood that the only

kindness he could do her was to keep his distance, he had kept it. And

what was he to do now? Granted that he had brought it all upon

himself, how was he to combat what was threatening Athalie?

His wife had so far desired nothing of him, not even divorce. He could

not leave Athalie and he could not marry her. And now, on her young

head he had, somehow, loosened this avalanche, whatever it was--a suit

for separation, probably--which, if granted, would leave him without

his liberty, and Athalie disgraced. And even suppose his wife desired

divorce for some new and unknown reason. The sinister advent of those

men meant that Athalie would be shamefully named in any such

proceedings.