lone
established, would be entirely gone. And if I left all for which I had
labored so hard, for another to enjoy, would that better the matter?
Great God! would _anything_ help me? Before me in terrific vision
rose a dim vista of future ruin, of ineffectual years writhing in the
inescapable power of the law, of long trial, of horrible suspense, of
garish publicity, of my name handed from mouth to mouth, a forlorn,
duped, degraded thing, whose blighted life was a theme of newspaper
comment and cavil. These thoughts swept over me as a tempest sweeps
over the young tree whose roots are not firm in the soil, whose
writhing and wrestling are impotent to defend it from certain
destruction. There was no one I loved especially, no one I cared for
anxiously, to relieve the bitter thoughts which centred in myself
alone. Monsieur awoke as I was sitting thus, in ineffectual effort to
compose myself. Seeing me sitting near him, still dressed, the door
open, and the light burning, he inquired what was the matter. I had
something below requiring his attention, I said, and, taking up the
lamp, ushered him down-stairs. My chaotic thoughts were beginning to
settle themselves,--to form a nucleus about the first circumstance
that thrust itself definitely before them. That poor wretch waiting
below,--that forsaken, abject, dishonored wife,--I would confront him
with her, and charge him with his guilt. Opening the saloon-door, I
stepped in before him. The lamp which I had left upon the stand was
out, and the slender thread of light which fell from the one in my
hand, sweeping across the gloom, rested upon the deserted sofa. The
saloon was empty; no trace, no sign could be discovered of any human
being. The hush, the solemnity of night brooded over the place.
Monsieur mockingly, but unsteadily, inquired what child's game I
was playing,--he was too tired to be fooled with. He spoke hotly and
quickly, as he never had spoken to me before,--like one who has long
been ill at ease, and deems a slight circumstance portentous.

So I turned upon him, with all the bitterness in my heart rising to
my tongue. I told him the story. I charged him with the guilt. He
listened in silence; marble-like he stood with folded arms, and heard
the conclusion of the whole matter. When I was silent, he strode up
to me, and, stooping, peered into my face steadily. His teeth were
clenched, his eyes shot fire; otherwise he was calm, quite composed.
He said, quietly,--