"This it was easy to do through correspondents from the London Banking House, and the result was so satisfactory, both as to character and wealth, that my friend was allowed to renew his visits, which speedily terminated in my betrothal. I have often thought since, that, had my parents allowed the acquaintance to proceed at first without opposition, all would have ended differently; for as the intimacy advanced, even before our marriage, I discovered certain traits which greatly annoyed me.
"I had been accustomed to the expression of admiration, and enjoyed it; but I was faithful and true to my lover. He considered the looks and tones of flattery an insult both to me and to him. He constantly urged our immediate union; but to this my parents would not consent, except on one condition. Until I was twenty-one, my home must be with them. On my eighteenth birthday, with the reluctant consent of all my relatives, I became a wife. For a month or two I was very happy. I found my husband intelligent, with a cultivated mind, and a kind heart. We were alone in a villa belonging to my grandfather, and proved so sufficient for mutual happiness that I returned home with great regret. Oh, that we had never returned!"
Marion had been so absorbed in the recital that she had failed to notice the increasing pallor of the narrator. Struck with the intense sadness of the last tone, she started to find her visitor sinking back in her chair, her lips blanched, her hands trembling.
Throwing aside her work, she ran to her chamber for cologne, with which she bathed the forehead and hands of the lady, then rang for James to bring her a cup of fresh coffee.
She insisted that Mrs. Douglass should rest before she continued her interesting story; but the lady, with a sigh, urged,—
"I may never have so favorable an opportunity to finish. My sad tale is nearly ended, and I shall be greatly relieved when I have told my only American friend my folly and my punishment; so resume your work, and let me end the recital as briefly as possible."
[CHAPTER XIX.]
TEARS OF REPENTANCE.
I HAD only been in Madrid a few weeks before I found that my husband was jealous, unreasonably jealous. He was so exacting that he demanded all my attention. If I conversed with my old acquaintances, young or old, of either sex, he made a scene. My father remonstrated, and they came to open fight, my husband declaring that he would have no interference with his wife. To avoid quarrelling I gave up society, and even at my father's table became constrained in manner, scarcely daring to speak lest I should meet the reproachful eyes of my husband fixed upon me. Finding that even this reticence did not satisfy him, I went to the other extreme, talked and laughed—yes, and flirted too,—with any one. This went on for more than a year. I need not say that we were both wretched; for, strange as it was, I still loved my husband, in memory of the few weeks of unalloyed happiness after our marriage. I think he loved me, too, though he had greatly changed,—grown cold and sarcastic.
"I was driving out one afternoon in company with a servant, when I met a traveller, alone and on foot, who started at my approach, gazed fixedly in my face as we slowly passed, and then ran after the carriage. I was in delicate health, and his sudden reappearance greatly startled me. In his excitement he did not notice my fright; but, speaking a few words in English, he forced me to alight and join him at a distance. It was Henreich, my brother, my long-lost idol, shattered and destroyed. The fiercest passions lighted his magnificent eyes. He asked for father, and cursed both him and his own bad luck that our parents still lived. When I hurriedly told him I was married, he was so angry he would have struck me. He asked for money, saying, repeatedly,—