Carew was devoted to his spouse for a whole
twelvemonth--a longer time than youth and beauty combined have ever
enthralled him since. Even when her tender tones--for she had the
sweetest voice that ever woman possessed--failed to thrill him, and her
queenly form to charm, he would probably not have consented to take part
against her, but for her own imprudence. She lost her temper with him
upon a matter where it is difficult for the wisest of her sex to keep
it: she grew jealous."
"Without cause?" inquired Yorke, gloomily. His cigar had gone out,
though he still held it between his white lips.
"No; not without cause. That is a point, I fancy, about which my
informant had her reasons for not being explicit."
"What!" cried the young man, indignantly. "She threw some one in her
son's way, to divert his attention from his lawful wife?"
"Perhaps; I can't say for certain. I am not defending her, Mr. Yorke;
but remember, she loved her son. She beheld him a victim to an artful
woman. He was not in her eyes as he is in mine, and perhaps in yours. He
had, she argued, capabilities of good, an affectionate and trustful
nature; he was the best _parti_ in the county, and had chosen his
tutor's niece--a woman old enough to have borne him. Besides, she was
_not_ his lawful wife.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113