She retired soon. Her departure was followed by that of Edgerton

first, and next of Wharton. Mrs. Porterfield had already gone. I

was alone at the entrance of our cottage. Not alone! My demon was

with me--suggestive of his pangs as ever--full of subtlety, and

filling me with the darkest imaginings. The destroyer of my peace

was in my dwelling. My wife may or may not be innocent. Happy for

her if she is, but how can that be known? It mattered little to

me in the excited mood which possessed me. Let any man fancy, as I

did, that one, partaking of his hospitality, lying in the chamber

which adjoined his own, yet meditated the last injury in the power

of man to inflict against the peace and honor of his protector. Let

him fancy this, and then ask what would be his own feelings--what

his course?

Still, there is a sentiment of justice which is natural to every

bosom with whom education has not been utter perversion. I believed

much against Edgerton; I suspected my wife; I had seen much to offend

my affections; much to alarm my fears; yet I KNEW nothing which

was conclusive. That last event, the occurrence of the afternoon,

seemed to prove not that the two were guilty, but that my wife

loved the man who meditated guilt. This belief, doubtful so long,

and against which I had really striven, seemed now to be concluded.

I had heard her scream; I had seen her tenderly sustaining his form;

I had felt her emotions, when, the danger being over, her feminine

nature gained the ascendancy and she fainted in my arms. I could

no longer doubt, that if she was still pure in mind, she was no

longer insensible to a passion which must lessen that purity with

every added moment of its permitted exercise. Still, even with this

conviction, something more was necessary to justify me in what I

designed. There must be no doubt. I must see. I must have sufficient

proof, for, as my vengeance shall be unsparing, my provocation

must be complete. That it might be so I had brought Edgerton into

the house. Something more was necessary. Time and opportunity must

be allowed him. This I insisted on, though, more than once, as I

walked under the dark whispering groves which girdled our cottage,

and caught a glimpse of the light in Edgerton's chamber, my demon

urged me to go in and strangle him. I had strength to resist this

suggestion, but the struggle was a long one.

I did not soon retire to rest. When I did, I still remained sleepless.

But Julia slept. In her sleep she threw herself on my bosom, and

seemed to cling about and clasp me as if with some fear of separation.

Had I not fancied that this close embrace was meant for another

than myself, I had been more indulgent to the occasional moanings

of distress that escaped her lips. But, thinking as I did, I forced

her from me, and in doing so she wakened.




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