“Ill. What was the matter with him?”
Colonel Richardson hesitated.
“You know his habits are rather irregular, and he had ridden too much and excited himself too much, and I believe he was ill from the effects of overexcitement. But why do you wish to know these things? You are happily spared the wrangles and disturbances of that unlucky household now. You have the interest of your own career to occupy your mind; it is much better for you not to concern yourself any more with the doings of that barbaric crew.”
“Don’t say that. Every word you say makes me reproach myself more. I am not heartless, though I see now how selfish it was of me to sneak away as I did. You will hardly believe that I thought I was doing what was best for my husband as well as myself. I thought he was too young to be burdened with a wife. We did not suit each other; I seemed to irritate him to worse brutality; we were spoiling each other’s lives and our own.”
“You were quite right to come away. He would only have crushed your life out by his coarse cruelty before now, if you had stayed with him. How could you, with your sensitive feelings and cultivated tastes, bear with that uncouth boor? I used to wonder at your patience with him when I first knew you in town with him.”
“I was wrong, though,” said Annie, gravely. “If I thought I could do him any good I would go back now.”
“I beg you not to do anything so rash,” said Colonel Richardson, hastily. “Your husband is worse than an uncouth lad now; he is a coarse, savage-tempered man. Lilian—Mrs. Falconer—his own sister, is afraid of him; and you know she is not meek-spirited.”
“What does he say of me? Does he never speak about me? Do you know?”
“The last time his sister saw him he told her that, if he ever met his wife again—and he used language which neither she nor I could repeat to you—he would ‘crush the beauty out of the face that made a fool of him.’ Forgive my repeating his words to you; I think they will be the best warning I can give you to keep out of his reach.”
Annie sighed.