ff his hat, but just turning her round
within his arm to walk towards the spot where the letter lay. "My
uncle Godwin!" he exclaimed, while Rosamond reseated herself, and
watched him as he opened the letter. She had expected him to be
surprised.

While Lydgate's eyes glanced rapidly over the brief letter, she saw his
face, usually of a pale brown, taking on a dry whiteness; with nostrils
and lips quivering he tossed down the letter before her, and said
violently--

"It will be impossible to endure life with you, if you will always be
acting secretly--acting in opposition to me and hiding your actions."

He checked his speech and turned his back on her--then wheeled round
and walked about, sat down, and got up again restlessly, grasping hard
the objects deep down in his pockets. He was afraid of saying
something irremediably cruel.

Rosamond too had changed color as she read. The letter ran in this
way:--

"DEAR TERTIUS,--Don't set your wife to write to me when you have
anything to ask. It is a roundabout wheedling sort of thing which I
should not have credited you with. I never choose to write to a woman
on matters of business. As to my supplying you with a thousand pounds,
or only half that sum, I can do nothing of the sort. My own family
drains me to the last penny. With two younger sons and three
daughters, I am not likely to have cash to spare. You seem to have got
through your own money pretty quickly, and to have made a mess where
you are; the sooner you go somewhere else the better. But I have
nothing to do with men of your profession, and can't help you there. I
did the best I could for you as guardian, and let you have your own way
in taking to medicine. You might have gone into the army or the
Church. Your money would have held out for that, and there would have
been a surer ladder before you. Your uncle Charles has had a grudge
against you for not going into his profession, but not I. I have always
wished you well, but you must consider yourself on your own legs
entirely now.

Your affectionate uncle,
GODWIN LYDGATE."

When Rosamond had finished reading the letter she sat quite still, with
her hands folded before her, restraining any show of her keen
disappointment, and intrenching herself in quiet passivity under her
husband's wrath. Lydgate paused in his movements, looked at her again,
and said, with biting severity--

"Will this be enough