“How?” asked Ernest timidly, suspecting what she was going to say.
“In my marriage,” she answered with decided emphasis. “You know that I rejected you. Are you not glad to see me humbled?”
“God forbid!” exclaimed Ernest energetically. “I sympathize with you. The good Lord knows I am sorry for you.”
“They tell me you are a preacher now?”
“It is true, I am glad to say.”
“O,” she exclaimed suddenly, “I wish Xerxes were a preacher—yes, anything than what he is. I reckon you’ve heard all about him.”
“I have heard some things,” replied Ernest.
“He has got to be a regular drunkard,” she said, “and I am tired of him. He treats me cruelly. I think he once loved me, and I could have lived happily with him, but he got to drinking, and that has proved his ruin. He is not the same man.”
“I am truly sorry for you,” replied Ernest. “But you are not without hope.”
“Where is there any hope for me?” she cried. “I never expect to be happy again.”