I want to consult you about-"
"Oh!" I said, rising, with my face all in a flame, do not trouble
yourself to go out in order to escape me. I can leave the room and
you can have your secrets to yourselves as you do your breakfast!"
I don't know which struck me, most, Ernest's appalled, grieved look
or the glance exchanged between Martha and her father.
He did not hinder my leaving the room, and I went upstairs, as
pitiable an object as could be seen. I heard him go to his office,
then take his hat and set forth on his rounds. What wretched hours I
passed, thus left alone! One moment I reproached myself, the next I
was indignant at the long series of offences that had led to this
disgraceful scene.
At last Ernest came.
He looked concerned, and a little pale.
"Oh, Ernest!" I cried, running to him, "I am so sorry I spoke to you
as I did! But, indeed, I cannot stand the way things are going on; I
am wearing all out. Everybody speaks of my growing thin. Feel of my
hands. They burn like fire."
"I knew you would be sorry, dear," he said. "Yes, your hands are
hot, poor child."
There was a long, dreadful silence. And yet I was speaking, and
perhaps he was. I was begging and beseeching God not to let us drift
apart, not to let us lose one jot or tittle of our love to each
other, to enable me to understand my dear, dear husband and make him
understand me.
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