I was not likely to have bon repos myself. I was troubled. Kingsley suspects me of being jealous. Such an idea was very mortifying. This is another weakness of the suspicious nature. It loathes above all things to be suspected of jealousy. I hurried home, vexed with my want of coolness—doubly vexed at the belief that other eyes than my own were witnesses of the attentions of Edgerton to my wife.
I stopped at the entrance of our cottage. HE was there as usual. Mrs. Porterfield was not present. The candle was burning dimly. He sat upon the sofa. Julia was seated upon chair at a little distance. Her features wore an expression of exceeding gravity. His were pale and sad, but his eyes burnt with an eager intensity that betrayed the passionate feeling in his heart. Thus they sat—she looking partly upon the floor—he looking at her. I observed them for more than ten minutes; and in all that time I do not believe they exchanged two sentences.
“Surely,” I thought, “this must be a singularly sufficing passion which can enjoy itself in this manner without the help of language.”
Of course, this reflection increased the strength of my suspicions. I became impatient, and entered the cottage. The eyes of Julia seemed to brighten at my appearance, but they were also full of sadness. Edgerton soon after rose and took his departure. I believe, if I had stayed away till midnight, he would have lingered until that time; but I also believe that if I had returned two hours before, he would have gone as soon. His passion for the wife seemed to produce an antipathy to the husband, quite as naturally as that which grew up in my bosom in regard to him. When he was gone, my wife approached me, almost vehemently exclaiming—
“Why, why do you leave me thus, Clifford? Surely you can not love me.”
“Indeed I do; but I was with Kingsley. I had business, and did not suppose you would miss me.”
“Why suppose otherwise, Edward? I do miss you. I beg that you will not leave me thus again.”
“What do you mean? You are singularly earnest, Julia. What has happened? What has offended you? Was not Edgerton with you all the evening?”
My questions, coupled with my manner, which has been somewhat excited, seemed to alarm her. She replied hurriedly:—
“Nothing has happened! nothing has offended me! But I feel that you should not leave me thus. It does not look well. It looks as if you did not love me.”