“You are a little mistaken.” I replied, “I never accused him of being either treacherous, or deceitful.”
“Do you not remember our having a talk about him, the evening before he started home; and my telling you, that he was an honest, plain-speaking fellow?”
“Yes; and I remember telling you, that if your statement, of the reason of his anxiety to get his letters, was true, he could not be so very deceitful, or he would have had the decency to have concealed the cause of that anxiety even from you.”
“I have never been more deceived in my life, than I was in that man,” continued Farrell. “Do you know why he was so desirous to hear of his wife’s death?”
“You said something about another woman.”
“I did. Who do you suppose that other woman was?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“I’ll tell you then. It was my wife! He wanted his own wife to die, so that he could go home and elope with mine. It’s a fact—and he’s done it too. That’s who the second epistle he used to get, was from. I have just got a letter from my brother, giving me the whole news. It’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“Yes; what are you going to do?”
“Find them, and kill them both!” said Farrell, hissing the words through his teeth.