ormed her duty to him,
and had been sincere in her love, even as such a man as Mr. Western
could desire,--with the one exception of her silence. It was true
that she should have told him of Sir Francis Geraldine; of her folly
in accepting him and her courage in repudiating him. Day by day the
days had gone by, and there had been some cause for fresh delay, that
cause having ever reference to his immediate comfort. Did she not
know that had she told him, his offer, his love, his marriage would
have been the same? And now, was she to be turned adrift and thrown
aside, rejected and got rid of at an instant's notice, because,
for his comfort, the telling of her story had been delayed? The
injustice, the cruelty, the inhumanity of such a punishment were very
plain to her.

Could he do it? As her husband had he a right so to dismiss her
from his bosom? And his money? Perish his money! And his house! The
remembrance of the offers which he made to her aggravated her wrath
bitterly. As his wife she had a right to his care, to his presence,
and to his tenderness. She had not married him simply to be
maintained and housed. Nor was that the meaning of their marriage
contract. Before God he had no right to send her away from him, and
to bid her live and die alone.

But though he had no right he had the power. She could not force him
to be her companion. The law would give her only those things which
she did not care to claim. He already offered more than the law would
exact, and she despised his generosity. As long as he supported her
the law could not bring him back and force him to give her to eat of
his own loaf, and to drink of his own cup. The law would not oblige
him to encircle her in his arms. The law would not compel him to
let her rest upon his bosom. None of those privileges which were
undoubtedly her own could the law obtain for her. He had said that he
had gone, and would not return, and the law could not bring him back
again. Then she sat and wept, and told herself how much better for
her would have been that single life of which Miss Altifiorla had
preached to her the advantages.

The second day since his departure had passed and she had taken no
step. Alone she had given way to sorrow and to indignation, but as
yet had decided on nothing. She had waited, still thinking that
something would be done to soften her sorrow; but nothing had been
done. The servants around her moved slowly, solemnly, and as though
struc