Mrs. Forest let her sewing drop, but seeing it was not wise to oppose Clara on two points at once, she returned to Albert. He was, she said, very anxious to atone for the past. He could never be happy as he was. He had no deep regard for any one but his wife. Here Mrs. Forest unfolded a letter. Clara’s heart beat violently. “Oh, if he does really want me! if he does really love me!” cried she. “Convince me only of that, and I will fly to him. I will humbly ask his forgiveness, and devote every hour of my life to making him happy.”
“Well, well, do let us hear what he says,” said the doctor, impatiently, seeing with alarm the excited condition of Clara. Amid the most perfect silence, Mrs. Forest smoothed out her letter and commenced:
“My Dear Mrs. Forest:—You cannot doubt that I regret as much as you do, the step my wife has taken, and I appreciate the sympathy you kindly offer.
“In my opinion, Mrs. Delano is entirely unjustifiable in so rash a movement. A wife should trust her husband until she has absolute proof of his infidelity. Mrs. Delano will not pretend that she has any such proof, though I admit indiscretion on my part. Tell her, if she will return at once, before any more mischief is wrought by idle tongues, I shall forgive her leaving me, and endeavor hereafter to avoid causes of trouble between us. Until she returns there is nothing more for me to say or do in the premises.
“Accept, dear madam, assurances of my profound respect.
“Albert Delano, M.D.”
When Mrs. Forest ended, Clara was lying with her face to the wall, her hand pressed tightly over her heart. Dr. Forest, looking intently into vacancy, was whistling a low melancholy air. Clara turned her head, and as their eyes met, gravity sat on both faces like a pall; but only for an instant, and then both simultaneously burst into laughter; but Clara’s tears flowed at the same time, and her whole frame was convulsed hysterically.
“Fannie,” said the doctor, alarmed at Clara’s condition, “your letter is too tragic, by far. Go quick and get me some brandy, and have Dinah bring a hot foot-bath.”
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE COUNT VON FRAUENSTEIN.
The fragments of the golden bowl, to use Clara’s figure, could not be patched together, and at last Mrs. Forest gave up all hope, and took refuge in the consolations of religion, in a saintly, aggravating way that was hard to witness. Whenever Clara proposed any change in her own life, or even suggested anything for the comfort of the family, the answer was invariably and with a martyr-like sigh of resignation, “Do anything you like. I have no preference.” Therefore, as the autumn advanced, Clara spent more and more time with Mrs. Buzzell and Susie. One day the old lady said to Clara, “You had better come here and live. Leila and Linnie are with your mother, and she does not need you. I am really beginning to fear, now I am getting so old, that Min will be neglected. Susie is perfectly absorbed with her potting, and rooting, and slipping, and re-potting, and really she ought not to have any other responsibilities. She used to help Mary a great deal, but now Mary herself is bewitched, and likes nothing so well as ‘flower-work,’ as she calls it. I expect nothing but that she will abandon the cooking and washing, and take permanently to potting and rooting. If you were here, you could keep Mary out of the clutches of that conservatory. Min will be the next victim,” said Mrs. Buzzell, laughing.