"Nonsense," said Charlitte, abruptly. "The fellow should have married you. He got tired, I guess. By this time he's had half a dozen other fancies."
Rose shrank from him in speechless horror, and, seeing it, Charlitte made haste to change the subject of conversation. "Where is the boy?"
"He is with him," she said, hurriedly.
"That was pretty cute in you," said Charlitte, with a good-natured vulgar laugh. "You were afraid I'd come home and take him from you,—you always were a little fool, Rose. Get up off the grass, and sit down, and don't distress yourself so. This isn't a hanging matter, and I'm not going to bully you; I never did."
"No, never," she said, with a fresh outburst of tears. "You were always kind, my husband."
"I think our marriage was all a mistake," he said, good-humoredly, "but we can't undo it. I knew you never liked me,—if you had, I might never—that is, things might have been different. Tell me now when that fool, Agapit, first began to set you against me?"
"He has not set me against you, my husband; he rarely speaks of you."
"When did you first find out that I wasn't dead?" said Charlitte, persistently; and Rose, who was as wax in his hands, was soon saying, hesitatingly, "I first knew that he did not care for you when Mr. Nimmo went away."
"How did you know?"