She hesitated now. She wanted to say cruel things about the squatter girl back in Ithaca, but she dared not. She was overwrought with anger, but her husband's threatening face forced her to silence.
"Are you determined to keep harping on a subject I wish to forget?" His words carried an ominous meaning, which quickened her already awakened jealousy. Determined to probe the matter to the bottom she demanded.
"Why should you wish to forget her? Does she disturb your memory as much as that?"
"Perhaps," replied Frederick gloomily.
He saw the danger involved in the discussion and curbed his tongue. Then he left her and walked quickly into the house. Madelene followed, angry and rebellious, and found him seated at the table, white-faced, with the morning mail unnoticed before him. Still enraged, she glanced over the letters indifferently.
"They're all for me with the exception of one," she said sulkily, "and it's an Ithaca letter.... May I open it?"
Frederick took it from her and looked at the envelope. His name was staring back at him as if every cramped letter were an accusing eye, and the writing was in the hand of Tessibel Skinner! He studied it a minute....
"You have mail of your own to read, my dear," he said quite kindly. "Let's have breakfast."
When during the morning Frederick found a moment to himself, he took from his pocket the letter that had been searing through his clothing to his heart. Gazing upon it, he shook as if he had the ague. Trembling hands held it up to the light. Several times he turned it over. What had Tess written to him? Had she told him, as he had her, that she loved him better than all the rest of the world? He uttered a desperate ejaculation and stretched out his arms. If he could have spanned the world that separated them, he would have dragged her to him by the terrible force of his desire. Again he turned the letter over.
Something kept him from ripping it open. He longed to delay the happiness of reading it, and while he waited, he lifted it to his lips and passionately kissed the crude writing. It ran up hill a little, but that only made him smile and love it the more. It brought memories of past joys, memories of Tessibel's endeavor to learn. Poor little child! Suddenly he slipped the paper knife into the envelope and slowly dragged it across the top.... Then he inserted his fingers and pulled out--the bill he had sent her. In a sudden passion he looked frantically into the empty envelope.... Nothing!... Absolute emptiness!