r. But John had gone with his master to the station. Then
she sent down for the letter, and within a few minutes held it in her
hand.

We will now go back to Mr. Western. He, as soon as he had left his
wife's room in the morning went down-stairs, and began to consider
within himself what was the cause of this evil thing which had been
done to him. A very evil thing had been done. He did feel that the
absolute happiness which had been his for the last few days had
perished and gone from him. He was a man undemonstrative, and silent
in expressing his own feelings, but one who revelled inwardly in his
own feelings of contentment when he was content. His wife had been to
him all that he had dreamt that a woman should be. She had filled up
his cup with infinite bliss, though he had never told even to her how
full his cup had been. But in everything he had striven to gratify
her, and had been altogether successful. To go on from day to day
with his books, with his garden, with his exercise, and above all
with his wife, had been enough to secure absolute happiness. He had
suspected no misfortune, and had anticipated no drawback. Then on
a sudden there had come this damnable letter, which had made him
wretched for the time, even though he were sure that it was not true.
But he had known that it was only for the time, for he had been sure
that it was untrue. Then the blow had fallen, and all his contentment
was banished. There was some terrible mystery,--some mystery of which
he could not gauge the depth. Though he was gracious and confiding
and honest when left at peace, still he was painfully suspicious when
something arose of which the circumstances were kept back from him.
There was a secret here,--there was certainly a secret; and it was
shared between his wife, whom of all human beings he had loved the
best, and the man whom he most thoroughly despised. As long as it
was possible that the whole tale might be an invention he would not
believe a word against his wife; but, when it appeared that there was
certainly some truth in it, then it seemed that there was nothing too
monstrous for him to believe.

After his solitary breakfast he walked abroad, and turned it all in
his mind. He had given her the opportunity of telling him everything,
and she had told him nothing. So he declared to himself. That one
damning fact was there,--clear as daylight, that she had willingly
bestowed herself upon this baronet, this creature who