"I—I am Eugene Mallard's wife," she whispered in a voice that would have touched any other man's heart than the one who was bending over her with rage depicted on his face.
He laughed aloud, and that laugh was horrible to hear.
She did not spare herself. She told him all the bitter truth—how, being thrown in contact with Eugene Mallard day after day, she had learned to love him with all the strength of her nature; how, seeing how good, kind and true he was—a king among men—she fell face downward in the dew-wet grass and cried out to Heaven that her life would cease the moment she went out of Eugene Mallard's life.
"This is, indeed, a fine state of affairs!" he cried out.
"What would you have me do?" cried the unhappy young girl in the voice of one dying.
He did not answer her at once; but, taking a cigar from his pocket, he coolly lighted it.
"When you are through with your hysterics, we will talk the matter over," he assented, frowningly.
She struggled to her feet.
"Sit down!" he commanded, pointing to the trunk of a tree.
Feeling more dead than alive, she sat down in the place which he had indicated. She expected that her life would end at any moment, the tension on her nerves was so great.