you.

"You remember, too. It may have been injudicious, imprudent, foolish,
yet while I was taught to think, to read, to sing, I was also taught to
consider myself your 'little wife.' Hundreds of times have you given me
that name, while we walked together as children--you with your arm about
my neck, I proud of being called your 'little wife.'

"As a child, I loved you better than anything else in the wide
world--better than my mother, my home, my friends; and my love grew with
my growth. I prided myself on my unbroken troth to you. I earned the
repute of being cold and heartless, because I could think of no one but
you. No compliments pleased me, no praise flattered me; I studied,
learned, cultivated every gift Heaven had given me--all for your sake. I
thought of no future, but with you, no life but with you, no love but
for you; I had no dreams apart from you. I was proud when they talked of
my beauty; that you should have a fair wife delighted me.

"When you returned home I quite expected that you were coming to claim
me as your wife--I thought that was what brought you to England. I
remember the day you came. Ah, well, revenge helps me to live, or I
should die! The first tones of your voice, the first clasp of your hand,
the first look of your eyes chilled me with sorrow and disappointment.
Yet I hoped against hope. I thought you were shy, perhaps more reserved
than of yore. I thought everything and anything except that you had
ceased to love me; I would have believed anything rather than that you
were not going to fulfill our ancient contract, and make me your wife. I
tried to make you talk of old times--you were unwilling; you seemed
confused, embarrassed I read all those signs aright; still I hoped
against hope. I tried to win you--I tried all that love, patience,
gentleness, and consideration could do.

"What women bear, and yet live on! Do you know that every moment of that
time was full of deadly torture to me, deadly anguish? Ah, me, the very
memory of it distresses me! Every one spoke to me as though our
engagement was a certainty, and our marriage settled. Yet to me there
came, very slowly, the awful conviction that you had ignored, or had
forgotten the old ties. I fought against that conviction. I would not
entertain it. Then came for me the fatal day when I heard you tell the
Duchess of Aytoun that you had never seen the woman you would care to
make your wife. I heard your confession, but would not gi