m aloud.

"She comes each night now, taking the same seat beside the embers, and
fixing upon me those eyes, with the hell-light in them, that burn into
my brain; and at rare times she smiles, and all my being passes out of
me, and is hers. I make no attempt to work. I sit listening for her
footsteps on the creaking bridge, for the rustling of her feet upon
the grass, for the tapping of her hand upon the door. No word is
uttered between us. Each day I say: 'When she comes to-night I will
speak to her. I will stretch out my hand and touch her.' Yet when
she enters, all thought and will goes out from me.

"Last night, as I stood gazing at her, my soul filled with her
wondrous beauty as a lake with moonlight, her lips parted, and she
started from her chair; and, turning, I thought I saw a white face
pressed against the window, but as I looked it vanished. Then she
drew her cloak about her, and passed out. I slid back the bolt I
always draw now, and stole into the other room, and, taking down the
lantern, held it above the bed. But Muriel's eyes were closed as if
in sleep."

_Extract from the sixth letter_:

"It is not the night I fear, but the day. I hate the sight of this
woman with whom I live, whom I call 'wife.' I shrink from the blow of
her cold lips, the curse of her stony eyes. She has seen, she has
learnt; I feel it, I know it. Yet she winds her arms around my neck,
and calls me sweetheart, and smoothes my hair with her soft, false
hands. We speak mocking words of love to one another, but I know her
cruel eyes are ever following me. She is plotting her revenge, and I
hate her, I hate her, I hate her!"

_Part of the seventh letter_:

"This morning I went down to the fiord. I told her I should not be
back until the evening. She stood by the door watching me until we
were mere specks to one another, and a promontory of the mountain shut
me from view. Then, turning aside from the track, I made my way,
running and stumbling over the jagged ground, round to the other side
of the mountain, and began to climb again. It was slow, weary work.
Often I had to go miles out of my road to avoid a ravine, and twice I
reached a high point only to have to descend again. But at length I
crossed the ridge, and crept down to a spot from where, concealed, I
could spy upon my own house. She--my wife--stood by