had devoted her
life to me,--whose soul was stainless, while mine was spotted with the
leprosy of a selfish nature. Like one under the influence of nightmare,
who knows he does but dream and makes an effort fruitless as imaginary
to lift himself out of it, I did try to follow what my heart said I
should do,--fold my dear wife in my arms, and reassure her in all
things. But I did no such thing. The other spirit--I should say seven
others more hateful and detestable than any which had before possession
of me--conquered. I raised Eudora from her kneeling posture. I placed
her on the sofa beside me. I began to hate her,--to hate her for her
goodness, her gentleness, her truthfulness, her fidelity,--to hate her
because she dared make such an avowal, and because it was true. What
right had she to permit her feelings to be influenced by another,--she,
my lawfully wedded wife? I would not admit the truth to myself that _I_
was the sole, miserable, detestable cause. Oh, no!

"Eudora," I said at length, "I have never seen you manifest so much
nervous excitement. Do you not see how ridiculous is your request? You
want me to bring ridicule, not to say disgrace, on myself, by suddenly
forbidding Alphonse my house. What will he suppose, what will the world
think, except that there has been some extraordinary cause for such a
procedure? And all out of a silly, romantic, imaginary notion which has
got into your head. Now, listen: if you would do your duty and honor me,
let Alphonse come and go as usual; let him perceive no difference in
your manner or in your treatment of him: in this way only I shall escape
mortification and chagrin."

She rose as I finished,--slowly rose,--with a countenance disheartened
and despairing. She uttered no word, and turned slowly to leave the
room. She had reached the door, when, not content with the merciless
outrage on her heart already inflicted, under the instigation of the
demon working within me, I prepared another stab.

"Eudora," I said, "one word more."

She came immediately back, doubtless with a slight hope that I would
show some sympathy for her.

"Eudora," I continued, rising and laying my hand on her shoulder, _"have
you permitted any improper familiarities from Alphonse?"_

Quick as lightning was my hand struck from its resting-place; swift as
thought her face changed to an expression so terrible that instinctively
I stepped back to avoid her. It was but an instant. Then came a last