She was at no loss to divine that something was amiss.
Opening the door of the room she was appalled at beholding Mrs. Bristow seated on the side of the bed in a terrible plight. The clothes were torn off her back, so that the upper portion of her person was nearly in a state of nudity.
Her lip was swollen, her nose was bleeding, and one eye was in an incipient state of blackness.
To add to the horrors of the scene the furniture was upset, and the miserable apartment gave unmistakable evidence of the violent scene which had just taken place.
“For mercy’s sake do tell me what’s the matter?” exclaimed Bessie Dalton.
“Oh, don’t ask me—don’t speak to me!” answered the wretched wife. “I wish I was dead—I wish I had never seen that inhuman wretch.”
“It is as I guessed. Then Bristow has been here. It is he who has done all this. But do bear up, dear—bear up,” said Bessie, going at once for a bason of water, with which she washed the bruised and bleeding face of her companion.
“Ugh, the drunken, good-for-nothing beast,” she ejaculated; “and has it come to this?”
“It has. I only wish he had killed me outright—then there would have been an end to my misery. As it is there does not appear to be any end to it.”
“But you must leave him. It would be worse than madness to remain longer with such a ruffian. How did it occur?”