acted like this before. If this
was love, she had never known it; if it was only "women's ways," as he
had heard men say, and so dangerously attractive, why had she not shown
it to him? He remembered that matter-of-fact wedding, the bride without
timidity, without blushes, without expectation beyond the transference
of her home to his. Would it have been different with another man?--with
the deputy, who had called this color and animation to her face? What
did it all mean? Were all married people like this? There were the
Westons, their neighbors,--was Mrs. Weston like Sue? But he remembered
that Mrs. Weston had run away with Mr. Weston from her father's house.
It was what they called "a love match." Would Sue have run away with
him? Would she now run away with--?

The candle was guttering as he rose with a fierce start--his first
impulse of anger--from the table. He took another gulp of whiskey. It
tasted like water; its fire was quenched in the greater heat of his
blood. He would go to bed. Here a new and indefinable timidity took
possession of him; he remembered the strange look in his wife's face. It
seemed suddenly as if the influence of the sleeping stranger in the next
room had not only isolated her from him, but would make his presence
in her bedroom an intrusion on their hidden secrets. He had to pass the
open door of the kitchen. The head of the unconscious deputy was close
to Ira's heavy boot. He had only to lift his heel to crush that ruddy,
good-looking, complacent face. He hurried past him, up the creaking
stairs. His wife lay still on one side of the bed, apparently asleep,
her face half-hidden in her loosened, fluffy hair. It was well; for in
the vague shyness and restraint that was beginning to take possession
of him he felt he could not have spoken to her, or, if he had, it would
have been only to voice the horrible, unformulated things that seemed to
choke him. He crept softly to the opposite side of the bed, and began to
undress. As he pulled off his boots and stockings, his eye fell upon
his bare, malformed feet. This caused him to look at his maimed hand,
to rise, drag himself across the floor to the mirror, and gaze upon his
lacerated ear. She, this prettily formed woman lying there, must have
seen it often; she must have known all these years that he was not like
other men,--not like the deputy, with his tight riding-boots, his soft
hand, and the diamond that sparkled vulgarly on his fat little f