[CHAPTER XI.]
How did poor, faulty Griffith receive it?
He raised his head, and turned his brown eye gentle but full upon her. "My poor girl," said he, "I see what you are driving at. But that will not do. I have nothing to give you in exchange. I hate my wife that I loved so dear: d—n her! d—n her! But I hate all womankind for her sake. Keep you clear of me. I would ruin no poor girl for heartless sport. I shall have blood on my hands ere long, and that is enough."
And, with these alarming words, he seemed suddenly to recover all his vigour; for he rose and stalked away at once, and never looked behind him.
Ryder made no further attempt. She sat down and shed bitter tears of sorrow and mortification.
After this cruel rebuff she must hate somebody; and with the justice of her sex, she pitched on Mrs. Gaunt, and hated her like a demon, and watched to do her a mischief by hook or by crook.
Griffith's appearance and manner caused Mrs. Gaunt very serious anxiety. His clothes hung loose on his wasted frame; his face was of one uniform sallow tint, like a maniac's; and he sat silent for hours beside his wife, eyeing her askant from time to time like a surly mastiff guarding some treasure.
She divined what was passing in his mind, and tried to soothe him; but almost in vain. He was sometimes softened for the moment; but hæret lateri lethalis arundo; he still hovered about, watching her and tormenting himself; gnawed mad by three vultures of the mind—doubt, jealousy and suspense.
Then Mrs. Gaunt wrote letters to Father Leonard: hitherto she had only sent him short messages.