"It is not for me to do you justice or injustice," she made answer; "your punishment must come from your own heart, or you must go unpunished."
"But"--he almost pleaded with her--"Mabel never blamed me, never tried to keep me more with her; rarely indeed expressed a wish of any kind. I declare, before God, I never dreamed, it never occurred to me to suspect that she was unhappy."
"No," she said; "and Mabel knew that. She interested you so little, you cared so little for her, that you never looked below the surface of her life; and her pride kept that surface fair and smooth. She would have died before she would have complained,--she has died, in fact, and made no sign."
"Yes," said Wilmot suddenly and bitterly; "but she has left me this legacy, brought me by your hands, of miserable regret and vain repentance. She has insured the destruction of my peace of mind; she has taken care that mine shall be no ordinary grief, sent by God and to be dispelled by time; she has added bitterness to the bitter, and put me utterly in the wrong by her unwarrantable concealment and reticence."
"How truly manlike your feelings are, Dr. Wilmot! She has hurt your pride, and you can't forgive her even in death! She has put you in the wrong,--and all her own wrongs, so silently borne, sink into nothing in comparison!"
"I deny it!" Wilmot said vehemently; "she had no wrongs,--no woman of her acquaintance had a better husband. What did I ever deny her?"
"Only your love, only a wife's true place in your life, only all she longed for, only all she died for lack of."
"All this is absurd," he said. "If she really had these romantic notions, why did she conceal them? Have I nothing to complain of in this? Was she just to me, or candid with me?"
"What encouragement did you give her? Do you think a proud, shy, silent woman like Mabel was likely to lay her heart open to so cold and careless a glance as yours? No; she loved you as few women can love; but if she had much love, so she had much pride and jealousy; and all three had power with her."
"Jealousy!" said Wilmot in an angry tone; "in God's name, of whom did she contrive to be jealous."