“Shall I renew it, Fanny?” I asked smiling in her face.
“Oh no, Henry, not for worlds—if you love me, don’t renew it!” she cried, slipping from my arms upon her knees, and pressing my head to her bosom. “Oh, my dear Henry, you know not the agony I have suffered from that simple act of yours, done in all love and kindness to me—no, Henry, don’t renew it!” she added, while a shudder passed over her.
“Ah,” whispered the demon, tugging at my heart-strings till they snapped, “is not she a good actress—how well she feigns; she weeps, don’t she—but it is because you are not in the church-yard!”
For the first time I paid no heed to the demon, but kissing my darling Fanny, and promising I would comply with her wishes, I withdrew to my office.
That evening—little did I think it was to be my last with my beloved—my angel wife—my last—last—last!
Ay, howl, ye mocking fiends! gibe and chatter, and clap your hands with hellish joy! shriek to my burning brain, “It was the last!” What care I—you cannot drive me mad!
That evening we were so happy—we talked of the future, we reared temples of happiness wherein our days were to be spent—but the demon set his foot upon them, and lo, they were dashed to pieces, and in an instant I was transformed from the tender, loving husband to the maniac—but I was not mad.
I turned upon my wife with the demon’s eyes. She grew suddenly pale. She went to the side-board and poured out a glass of wine; she brought it to me and said timidly, “Will you drink this, Henry?”
I dashed it from her hand—I struck her a blow! Heavens! why was not my arm paralyzed! and cried in a voice of fury,
“Wretch! murderess!—would you poison me!”