“Philip! Philip! these things occurred before our engagement, and you heard of them. Forgive me for reminding you that you might have requested an explanation of them, and if refused, you might have withdrawn.”
“No, Marguerite! I am amazed to hear you say so. I had no right then to question your course of conduct; it would have been an unpardonable insult to you to have done so; moreover, I thoroughly confided in the honor of a woman whom I found at the head of the best society, respected, flattered, followed, courted, as you were. I never could have foreseen that such a woman would bring into our married life an embarrassing mystery, which I beg her now to elucidate.”
“Yet it is a pity, oh! what a pity that you had not asked this elucidation a year since!” exclaimed Marguerite, in a voice of anguish.
“Why? Would you then have given it to me?”
“Alas! no, for my power to do so was no greater then than now. But then, at least, on my refusal to confide this affair (that concerns others, Philip) to you, you might have withdrawn from me—now, alas! it is too late.”
“Perhaps not,” remarked Mr. Helmstedt, in a calm, but significant tone.
“My God! what mean you, Philip?” exclaimed his wife, starting up from her recumbent position.
“To question you farther—that is all for the present.”
She sank down again and covered her face with her hands. He continued.
“Recall, Marguerite, the day of our betrothal. There was a fierce anguish, a terrible conflict in your mind before you consented to become my wife; that scene has recurred to me again and again. Taken as a link in this chain of inexplicable circumstances connected with you, it becomes of serious importance. Will you explain the cause of your distress upon the occasion referred to?”