"But I thought he was dead long ago."
"You were too ready to believe that, and to console yourself. He was more faithful to your memory."
"How do you know? You said my name was never mentioned between you."
"Not from him, but from a mutual acquaintance, of whom I asked how it was that Mr. Whyte had never married, I heard that he had grieved for her out of all reason and had ever remained faithful to the memory of his first and only love. My own inference was, and is, that the report of your death was got up by his friends to break off the connection."
"And you never told this 'mutual friend' that I still lived?"
"How could I, my dear, with my knowledge of your Stillwater affair? No, no; I was not going to disturb the peace of a good man by telling him that his child-wife of twenty years ago was still living, but lost to him by a fall far worse than death. No—I let you remain dead to him."
"Oh, misery! misery! misery! I would to Heaven I were dead to everybody! dead, dead indeed!" she cried, wringing her hands in anguish.
"Come, come, don't be a fool! You see that you are utterly in my power and must do my will. Do it, and you will come to no harm; but live and die in a luxurious home."