"I think you could. I am sure you could if you made up your mind to do it. And, if it is right, you will make up your mind."
"But how? I could never begin!"
"Wait for your opportunity," he said. "You will surely get it, and I believe you will find the way, too, when the opportunity comes. There's no fear of your doing it cruelly."
Nora did not feel so sure. She feared that the very effort would make the disclosure come out harshly, whatever she might desire. But she accepted Mr. Alden's counsel, without further opposition.
One of her first cares was a visit to the hospital, where she found that "Mrs. Travers" had been in a very quiet and subdued mood, ever since the painful scene of her return. Miss Spencer expressed relief and approval when Nora told her of her determination.
"Only," she said, "unless he means to acknowledge her, it will be best that she should never know that he knows."
Nora assented. But how, she thought, would it ever be possible for him, of all men, to "acknowledge" a wife in such circumstances? She was very sad and thoughtful as she walked home.
That evening, it so happened that Mr. Chillingworth called at his usual hour—Mrs. Blanchard being out at a large afternoon reception, to which Nora naturally did not care to accompany her. Possibly Mr. Chillingworth had guessed as much, and hoped to find her alone. It was the first time he had been able to see her since the evening of the oratorio, and he was more effusive in his greeting, more genuinely sympathetic, than she had ever seen him. She found it almost impossible to command her thoughts, so as to keep up conversation. She could not keep them from darting off to the task that lay before her, and, all the time she was trying to reply to him, she was wondering when the "opportunity" would come, and whether she could be equal to it.
They talked of many indifferent things, of the financial success of the oratorio, of the beauty of the spring evenings, of the hyacinths and violets that were filling the room with fragrance, delighting Mr. Chillingworth's sensitive organization. He himself was in an unusually genial and happy mood, utterly unconscious, of course, of the abyss that was yawning at his feet. He had of late been indulging much in a day-dream that was ever taking more tangible shape. He was growing very tired of his solitary life, and he had been dreaming of the sweet companionship of a graceful and cultivated woman, which should refresh and rejuvenate his heart and life. The dream was uppermost in his heart, and very near his lips.
By and by, in spite of Nora's best efforts, the conversation flagged perceptibly. Mr. Chillingworth himself seemed indisposed to talk much. After a short pause he began, however, in a tone that was low, and more tenderly modulated than usual.