It had been no uncommon
thing for him to point a loaded pistol at her heart, and threaten to
shoot her dead if she moved or cried out; to hold a razor at his own
throat, or place the keen edge, close to hers; to open a window at
midnight and threaten to fling himself to the ground, or to drag her
across the floor, swearing that they should take the leap together.
For years the wretched wife had borne all this, and worse if
possible, hiding her dreadful secret as best she could, and doing
all in her power to hold her husband, for whom she retained a strong
attachment, away from temptation. Friends who only half suspected
the truth wondered that Time was so aggressive, taking the flash and
merriment out of her beautiful eyes, the color and fullness from her
cheeks, the smiles from her lips and the glossy, blackness from her
hair.
"Mrs. Abercrombie is such a wreck," one would say on meeting her
after a few years. "I would hardly have known her; and she doesn't
look at all happy."
"I wonder if the general drinks as hard as ever?" would in all
probability be replied to this remark, followed by the response:
"I was not aware that he was a hard drinker. He doesn't look like
it."
"No, you would not suspect so much; but I am sorry to say that he
has very little control over his appetite."
At which a stronger surprise would be expressed.
General Abercrombie was fifty years old, a large, handsome and
agreeable man, and a favorite with his brother officers, who deeply
regretted his weakness.
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