"Well, it is very difficult—it is so like a confession,"—she arose abruptly, and, walking to the door, bolted it; after which she resumed her seat and the recital simultaneously,—"that I hope my husband may hear and know it for an act of penance.
"General Westbrook was never a man to discuss his business affairs with any one, and there existed many reasons why he should not make a confidante of me; so I must tell you at the outset that what I heard of the name Del Castillo came to my ears in more or less of a surreptitious manner and without General Westbrook's knowledge. Whether the words themselves or the circumstances under which I heard them justify my anxiety, you may judge.
"When he finally wound up his affairs in Mexico and returned home, I noticed immediately that some trouble was weighing heavily upon his mind. I never showed him by word or sign that I remarked his mental state; but it was plain, nevertheless, and so unusual as to worry me not a little. As the days passed this secret trouble deepened rather than grew lighter, and developed in my poor husband an irascibility quite foreign to his uniformly courteous manner. Naturally, when I beheld that this trouble was not diminishing, my worry increased; but I never questioned him.
"Well, this condition continued for several months without abatement or apparent change, until one night I was awakened suddenly by hearing him cry aloud. I was very much startled,—frightened, indeed,—and I waited to see if I was the victim of my sleeping senses, or if he had indeed called out." She paused, and her thin lips momentarily tightened. "Then I experienced the most dreadful sensation of my life.
"Our apartments, you must know, adjoin and are divided only by portieres. We had both retired long since; I was dimly conscious of the lateness of the hour; and I had no reason to believe otherwise than that the General had been many hours asleep. But as I waited, I found that I had not been dreaming. I heard him say distinctly, 'I had rather see her dead at my feet than wife to such as you.'
"Now thoroughly alarmed, I switched on the light and hastened into his room. My husband was standing in the middle of the floor, and I perceived instantly that he was asleep. This merely increased my fright, for in all the years of our married life he had been a healthy sleeper, though retiring late and rising early.
"I caught his arm and called him by name. He awoke at once and looked at me in a dazed way; then he became unaccountably angry, and demanded to know if he had spoken. And when I told him, he explained his words as the vagaries of a bad dream. Far from satisfied, I accepted this explanation, scorning to question him concerning any matter which he did not choose to tell me voluntarily; and I returned to my own apartment in some chagrin, for his manner had offended me. I believe neither of us slept much the remainder of that night.
"Well, Mr. Converse, that was merely a beginning—four years ago. It may be difficult for you to understand my conduct under such trying circumstances—why I never questioned my husband; why I permitted my doubts and fears to continue without an effort to remove them; but General Westbrook and I to a certain extent lived our lives apart," the listener fancied he detected a note of bitterness in this statement,—"and we were not in entire accord upon all matters. Don't get the idea that any ground for trouble existed between us," she hastily added; "no, no,—but there was a certain restraint, a lack of sympathy, characterizing our entire married life, which led naturally to a repression of those confidences without which such a condition cannot be perfect. God help me, perhaps I was to blame; but so it was. And besides, I did try to remove my doubts—to quiet my fears, as you shall presently see.
"Two nights passed before I heard other dream vagaries, as he was pleased to call them, and I first heard the name Del Castillo upon this second occasion. I failed to catch the sense in which it was used, but after a long silence he began to say, over and over again, 'Paquita is not dead—Paquita is not dead.'"
Paquita again! Verily, she was not dead,—if her influence over the destinies of so many of the living signified anything at all.