“No, I did not, Mr. Warden; and may I ask you, did Amy ever know of her mother’s guilt, or did she imagine that your second wife was her real mother?”
“No, to both your questions. Amy was told her mother was dead, as far as she could be made to understand what that was; but her fascinating image was so deeply rooted in the child’s mind, that I do not believe she ever forgot her. Later on—but no, I will not anticipate, but will tell you in proper order each successive event.
“When I came to my senses, I fully realized the depth of my misery, and at once took measures to ascertain if my wife had really done as she threatened. Alas! it was only too easily ascertained—the shamelessness of her conduct was absolutely appalling. Stricken to the heart, though I was, I made no effort to win her back; ‘she has ceased to love me, let her go,’ was the one thought in my mind, and henceforth my little Amy would have all my love and care.
“I hastened to take her to a place where her mother’s name and sin would be unknown. So I left the Haute Loire province, and settled at St. Sauveur, near Bordeaux. There I engaged an excellent English governess for her (the lady who afterwards became my wife) and by study and incessant occupation endeavoured to divert my thoughts.
“About a year after we had been at St. Sauveur, I was startled one morning by the appearance of Isola standing at the gate. My first thought was that she had come to me with a message of penitence from my wife. Then, however, noticing she was clad in deep mourning, I guessed she had far different tidings to bring.
“‘Your mistress is dead,’ I asked, at once anticipating the worst. She bowed her head.
“‘Tell me everything, Isola,’ I gasped, hoping still there might be some message of love or repentance for me.
“‘There is nothing to tell,’ she replied coldly, ‘she is dead, that is all.’
“‘But where, when, how?’ I insisted, my soul thirsting and hungering after my wife.
“‘She took cold, she would not take care, and so she died, that is all,’ was the reply.