“I hope that what I am about to do is for the best; if it were not I am sure that God would not permit me to go away. Surely in His wisdom He would guide me differently if my action threatens to make us more unhappy than we have been.”
She had finished putting on her gloves, and there was no further excuse for her to stay, but she remained, and trembled and hesitated.
“He has imagined so much,” she was talking to me now, “that if I allow this to go unrebuked he will be confirmed in his unjust suspicions. I feel that if I do this it will be better for my husband, better for myself, and for all of us. I have heretofore said nothing submitting to a great many indignities which his changed disposition implied; but he has grown unhappier every day. It cannot be wrong if I ask that he respect my womanhood as I have always respected his manhood. I have felt that I have pursued a wrong course from the first; at this late day I attempt reparation, though it almost kills me to do it.”
She had advanced a step or two toward her husband, and as he made no reply to what she said, she seemed anxious to justify her course still further, and continued, this time talking to both of us:—
“If I have failed to be an acceptable wife, it was because my husband’s unhappiness distressed me so much that I was unable to accomplish all that my heart suggested. I have thought of this so much that my health has become impaired, and I have lost the power to act. I was a weak and puny girl; I fear I am a weaker woman, and if I seem to have been helpless in the sorrow which has come upon our house, it was because I was dumb at the enormity of it I tried in my weak way to explain it and effect a reconciliation, but he told me that everything I said made it worse. I could do nothing then but bear the burden bravely. He asked me as a favor to let him alone; as an obedient wife I did the best I could, hoping all the time that he would recall his cruel request. I have not dared to express my regret at his unhappiness, fearing he would not like it, and God is my witness that it is not my fault that we have lived as strangers so long.”
As I paid respectful attention, and her husband none at all,—his face was turned from her,—she addressed herself to me again:—
“I hope it will be always understood that I am taking this step not in anger, but because I feel that I must do something. I cannot live as I have been living, and self-preservation suggests action of some kind. Perhaps what I am doing is not wise, but I can think of nothing else. I have always felt that I should have been more independent, and asserted myself more. I hope he will understand, and respect my determination.”
Although I felt that I ought to interfere, I knew it was useless and idle, and perhaps would offend them both, so I held my peace.
“If he will ask me to remain,” she was losing her dignity and composure very rapidly, and when I realized how pale and weak she was I wondered she had held up so long, “I will reconsider; or I will ask you to take me home, instead of Clinton Bragg, if he desires it. I will do anything he wishes.”
Not a word, Jo? Will you refuse your trembling wife advice when she asks it, and then hold her responsible if she adopts the wrong course?