I felt like a criminal.
“Not long,” I answered.
“You knew it!” cried he, with bitter vehemence—“and you did not tell me! You helped to deceive me!”
“My lord, I did not help to deceive you.”
“Then why did you not tell me?”
“Because I knew it would be painful to you. I hoped she would return to her duty, and then there would be no need to harrow your feelings with such—”
“O God! how long has this been going on? How long has it been, Mrs. Huntingdon?—Tell me—I MUST know!” exclaimed, with intense and fearful eagerness.
“Two years, I believe.”
“Great heaven! and she has duped me all this time!” He turned away with a suppressed groan of agony, and paced the room again in a paroxysm of renewed agitation. My heart smote me; but I would try to console him, though I knew not how to attempt it.
“She is a wicked woman,” I said. “She has basely deceived and betrayed you. She is as little worthy of your regret as she was of your affection. Let her injure you no further; abstract yourself from her, and stand alone.”