“‘What is it?’ said Aimée, petulantly, ‘I have not loved you so well lately, for you have been cross and cruel to me.’
“How lovely she looked that morning, angry and scornful though she was. I remember she was threading some bright Andalusian beads, one of our little girl’s lily crowns, half-faded, drooped over her forehead, and an Indian scarf, draped round her waist, fell in folds over her white dress. Poor, poor Aimée! My girl-wife! then scarcely nineteen years of age—till I die, your image will remain in my mind fresh and glowing, as on that last morning I looked on your sweet face!
“The favour I had to ask was a very simple one. I merely wished to take my wife and daughter to England, and introduce both to my friends and relations, from whom I had been, to a certain extent, alienated during my long residence in France. But the one thing which I begged with great earnestness was, that Isola should be left behind with her own people. I explained to her that my motive in asking this was a kind one. Isola should be well cared for during our absence, and, as I loved my wife well, I wished to have her all to myself, for a short time at any rate.
“Then the storm burst. It was terrible to see my wife’s anger—
“‘Did I wish to kill her in some secret place,’ she asked, ‘that I should thus take her away from her own bright land, and the one, the only one who loved her truly?’
“The scene was indescribable; in vain I attempted to reason with, or calm her. In a perfect whirlwind of fury, she swept out of the room.
“I would not trust myself to follow her, so much had my temper been aroused. So calling to my little girl, who was playing in the garden, we went together for a long ramble among the mountains; I thought that perhaps alone with my little one in the sweet air I might somewhat recover my calmness, and would better arrange my plan of action for the future. We did not return until nearly evening, Amy singing and scattering flowers as we went. At the door of my house I was met by one of the servants, who handed to me a letter from my wife, and in answer to my enquiry, informed me that she and Isola had gone out immediately after I had, and not since returned.
“With a foreboding of calamity, I opened the letter and read these words, they are burnt into my memory, ‘You no longer love me. Your every look and action prove it. For many months I have seen your love slipping away from me, and I have not cared to stretch out my hand to keep it. I go to one who has worshipped me from my earliest childhood, to my cousin in Arragon. In his house, and in his presence, I will see you if you wish, but never seek to win me back to your home again, for I have torn your image out of my heart.
“‘AIMÉE.’
“I staggered like a man who had received a heavy blow; the room swam round and round before my eyes; then all was darkness, and I fell heavily to the ground. Lord Hardcastle, do I weary you? When you asked for my confidence just now, did you expect to hear such a story as this of Amy’s mother?”