And then he asked himself what would be the consequence of telling her.
She was a lady of great spirit, fire, and nobility. She would never live with this husband of hers.
And then came the question, What would be her life?
She might be maid, wife, and widow all her days.
Horrible as it was, he began almost to fear her one miserable chance of happiness might lie in ignorance.
But then how long could she be in ignorance?
Little was coming home; he would certainly speak out.
Dr. Amboyne was more tormented with doubts than a man of inferior intellect would have been. His was an academic mind, accustomed to look at every side of a question; and, when he reached Woodbine Villa, he was almost distracted with doubt and perplexity. However, there was one person from whom the news must not be kept a moment. He took an envelope out of his pocket-book, and sent the cabman to Mrs. Little with this line:
“Thank God, I have a letter from Henry Little by this day's post. He is well. Wait an hour or two for me. I can not leave Woodbine Villa at present.”
He sent this off by his cabman, and went into the breakfast-room in a state of mind easier to imagine than to describe.