“No, Bessie has a photograph which she says is her husband. She has let us all look at it; but she will never let it go out of her possession. It is a very handsome 234 face, and since it seems to be such a comfort to her we allow her to keep it. Bessie said that he tried to get her to return it to him, but she would not do so. The reason of his wishing to get possession of it is now perfectly plain. Bessie’s baby lived but a few months, but it was beautiful, and oh how Bessie loved it, and after it died she seemed to grow worse, and at times became violent. We laid her baby under the roses on the hillside. We thought it might be the means of bringing her back to reason, but though we have tried every means, she is incurably insane.”
“Poor girl!” said Miss Elsworth, “the man who wronged her should never be allowed to go unpunished.”
“He never would go unpunished if we knew where to find him; but there is a punishment awaits him for that act; and it is the one which will be accorded him by a wiser one than man. I hope Ross will never meet him, for I am sure he will show him no mercy, though I myself feel that there is no punishment too severe for him.”
CHAPTER XXXI.
REPENTING AT LEISURE.
It was just three years since Irene had left her husband’s home. She lay upon her couch in her home at San Francisco. She had grown much older in appearance than she would have done had she led a different life, for late hours and careless exposure had brought on a hacking cough that not even the healthful climate of California could stay. She was so often left to pass her evenings alone when she did not feel able to go out, and while Max was enjoying himself at a game of billiards or cards. She grew very much dissatisfied, and often would express herself in tones of deepest disgust, when Max entered the house, and seldom in a very pleasant mood. At such times he would incivilly reply, quite unlike former days.
She had coughed so incessantly all through the evening that she was quite exhausted, and two bright spots were burning on her cheeks. The clock struck two, and still she waited.
“I wonder how he can enjoy staying away so late,” she said; “he is getting awfully selfish. He does not seem to care whether I live or die. They say all men 236 are that way; but I don’t know, I don’t believe Scott would ever have been like that. I wonder what made me think of him, I haven’t thought of him in so long. I suppose he has another wife before this. I wonder if he has. I wish I knew. Oh, dear, how my head aches, and that pain in my side is terrible. I wonder if Scott would have left me alone.”
She checked herself suddenly. What it was that had brought Scott to her mind she could not tell; but for some cause unknown to herself, he was continually coming before her, and his hazel eyes seemed to look in scornful pity on her in her loneliness. She heard Max enter the hall door, and the next moment he stood before her in a state of intoxication.