It bore no internal signs of the writer or of the person to whom it was written. It might have been sent by another man to another woman. It could never be successfully produced in evidence against any one in any court.
But if he took this precaution with the idea that his deeply wronged wife could ever drag her domestic sorrows before a public tribunal, and expose his private letters for her own vindication, he had studied her character to very little purpose.
The blow he had dealt had well nigh proved her death stroke. It struck her to the floor. Her cry and her fall aroused her servants, who came running to her room in haste. They found her stretched in a swoon on the carpet, with the open letter beside her.
“Master’s dead now, for sure!” exclaimed Leo, in consternation.
“And no harm done if he is!” cried Pina, who had, with her woman’s wit, long ago detected the bad faith.
“But it’s killed mist’ess!” groaned the boy.
“It hain’t! it’s only overcome her like! Help me to get her up, and don’t stand there blubbering!” said the girl.
Between them they tenderly lifted their mistress and laid her on her bed.
“Now, Leo, you go out and stop in the passage, so as to be in calling distance if I want anything. And leave me alone with my madam. I’ve seen her in these here fainty fits before, and I know what to do with her. Come, now!” impatiently exclaimed Pina, seeing that her brother still lingered, “be off with you, will you? It ain’t no ways proper for you to be looking on while I’m unloosening of her clothes!”
This hint drove the boy in haste from the room.