acknowledge that I had ever been untrue
to my duty as a married woman, either in deed, or word, or thought.
I have no doubt that the poor wretches who were tortured in their
cells used to make the same resolutions as to their confessions. But
yet, when their nails were dragged out of them, they would own to
anything. My nails have been dragged out, and I have been willing to
confess anything. When he talks of the pity of it, of course I know
what he means. There has been something, some remainder of a feeling,
which has still kept him from asking me that question. May God, in
his mercy, continue to him that feeling!"

"But you would answer truly?"

"How can I say what I might answer when the torturer is at my nails?
If you knew how great was the difficulty to get him away from that
place in Italy and bring him here; and what it was to feel that one
was bound to stay near him, and that yet one was impotent,--and to
know that even that refuge must soon cease for him, and that he might
have gone out and died on the road-side, or have done anything which
the momentary strength of madness might have dictated,--if you could
understand all this, you would not be surprised at my submitting to
any degradation which would help to bring him here."

Stanbury was often down at the cottage, and Nora could discuss the
matter better with him than with her sister. And Stanbury could learn
more thoroughly from the physician who was now attending Trevelyan
what was the state of the sick man, than Emily could do. According
to the doctor's idea there was more of ailment in the body than in
the mind. He admitted that his patient's thoughts had been forced
to dwell on one subject till they had become distorted, untrue,
jaundiced, and perhaps mono-maniacal; but he seemed to doubt whether
there had ever been a time at which it could have been decided that
Trevelyan was so mad as to make it necessary that the law should
interfere to take care of him. A man,--so argued the doctor,--need
not be mad because he is jealous, even though his jealousy be ever
so absurd. And Trevelyan, in his jealousy, had done nothing cruel,
nothing wasteful, nothing infamous. In all this Nora was very little
inclined to agree with the doctor, and thought nothing could be more
infamous than Trevelyan's conduct at the present moment,--unless,
indeed, he could be screened from infamy by that plea of madness.
But then there was more behind. Trevelyan had been so wasted