We will suppose some months to have elapsed in this manner--months,
to me, of prolonged torture and suspicion. Circumstanees, like
petty billows of the sea, kept chafing upon the low places of my
heart, keeping alive the feverish irritation which had already done
so much toward destroying my peace, and overthrowing the guardian
outposts of my pride and honor. How long the strife was to bo
continued before the ocean-torrents should be let in--before the
wild passions should quite overwhelm my reason--was a subject of
doubt, but not the less a subject of present and of exceeding fear.
In these matters, I need not say that there was substantially very
little change in the character of events that marked the progress
of my domestic life. William Edgerton still continued the course
which he had so unwittingly begun. He still sought every opportunity
to see my wife, and, if possible, to see her alone. He avoided me
as much as possible; seldom came to the office; absolutely gave
up his business altogether; and, when we met, though his words and
manner were solicitously kind, there was a close restraint upon the
latter, a hesitancy about the former, a timid apprehensiveness in
his eye, and a generally-shown reluctance to approach me, which I
could not but see, and could not but perceive, at the same time,
that he endeavored with ineffectual effort to conceal. He was
evidently conscious that he was doing wrong. It was equally clear
to me that he lacked the manly courage to do right. What was all
this to end in?
The question became momently more and more serious.
Suppose that he possessed no sort of influence over my wife! Even
suppose his advances to stop where they were at present--his course
already, so far, was a humiliating indignity, allowing that it
became perceptible to the eyes of others. That revelation once
made, there could be no more proper forbearance on the part of the
husband. The customs of our society, the tone of public opinion--nay,
outraged humanity itself--demanded then the interposition of the
avenger. And that revelation was at hand.
Meanwhile, the keenest eyes of suspicion could behold nothing in
the conduct of Julia which was not entirely unexceptionable. If
William Edgerton was still persevering in his pursuit, Julia seemed
insensible to his endeavors. Of course, they met frequently when
it was not in my power to see them. It was my error to suppose that
they met more frequently still--that he saw her invariably in his
morning visits to the studio, which was not often the case--and,
when they did meet, that she derived quite as much satisfaction
from the interview as himself. Of their meetings, except at night,
when I was engaged in my miserable watch upon them, I could say
nothing. Failing to note anything evil at such periods, my jealous
imagination jumped to the conclusion that this was because my
espionage was suspected, and that their interviews at other periods
were distinguished by less prudence and reserve. And yet, could
I have reasoned rightly at this period, I must have seen that,
if such were the case, there would have been no such display of
EMPRESSMENT as William Edgerton made at these evening visits. Did
he expend his ardor in the day, did he apprehend my scrutiny at
night, he would surely have suppressed the eagerness of his
glance--the profound, all-forgetting adoration which marked his
whole air, gaze, and manner. Nor should I have been so wretchedly
blind to what was the obvious feeling of discontent and disquiet
in her bosom. Never did evenings seem to pass with more downright
dullness to any one party in the world. If Edgerton spoke to her,
which he did not frequently, his address was marked by a trepidation
and hesitancy akin to fear--a manner which certainly indicated
anything but a foregone conclusion between them; while her answers,
on the other hand, were singularly cold, merely replying, and
calculated invariably to discourage everything like a protracted
conversation. What was said by Edgerton was sufficiently harmless--nor
harmless merely. It was most commonly mere ordinary commonplace,
the feeble effort of one who feels the necessity of speech, yet
dares not speak the voluminous passions which alone could furnish
him with energetic and manly utterance. Had the scales not been
abundantly thick and callous above my eyes, how easily might these
clandestine scrutinies have brought me back equally to happiness
and my senses! But though I thus beheld the parties, and saw the
truth as I now relate it, there was always then some little trifling
circumstance that would rise up, congenial to suspicion, and
cloud my conclusions, and throw me back upon old doubts and cruel
jealousies. Edgerton's tone may, at moments, have been more
faltering and more tender than usual; Julia's glance might sometimes
encounter his, and then they both might seem to fall, in mutual
confusion, to the ground. Perhaps she sung some little ditty at
his instance--some ditty that she had often sung for me. Nay, at
his departure, she might have attended him to the entrance, and
he may have taken her hand and retained his grasp upon it rather
longer than was absolutely necessary for his farewell. How was
I to know the degree of pressure which he gave to the hand within
his own? That single grasp, not unfrequently, undid all the
better impressions of a whole evening consumed in these unworthy
scrutinies. I will not seek further to account for or to defend
this unhappy weakness. Has not the great poet of humanity said-"Trifles, light as air,
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong
As proofs Of Holy Writ"?