"I was silent.
"'What right,' thought I, 'have I to retaliate upon him reproach for reproach?' but I thought my heart would break.
"'Why did she not try to win me to her truth,' he exclaimed, 'if she thinks it of so much consequence?'
"'Has she not done so for the last four months?' I said.
"'Yes; but as a wife,' he replied, 'she would have had treble power.'
"'She is forbidden to be your wife,' I said, 'by the very religion she professes—and would her acting in opposition to its laws have convinced you of its truth?'
"'There was no love in the case,' said he, not heeding me, 'and now she wishes to be my friend,' he continued, with a sneer, 'as if there were any medium with me between love and hate, except utter forgetfulness.' "'Madam,' he exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering himself, 'forgive me what I have been saying; had she let me, I would have been to you more than a son—as it is—fare well.'
"Without another word to Mabel, he left us, and I have never seen him since.
"I dare say a great deal passed more than I have told you; but I am very forgetful now—though I well remember how miserable I was that day, and for a very long time afterwards, for poor Mabel was very ill, and never left her bed for weeks. I sent to our good Mr. Ware, and told him everything, and asked him to come and comfort Mabel; and so he did, most effectually. Night after night did I sit by her, terrified by her fits of delirium and the dreadful exhaustion which followed them. I took cold then, and my nurse wanted me to go to bed, and leave her to watch by her; but what was life and rest to me, without my child?
"Amy sat upon her pillow nearly all day, and would whisper, 'don't cry, dear Mabel.' There was not much comfort in her baby words; but I think Mabel liked to hear her.