"
"Perhaps so. Well, Gilbert, there is no more to be said. I loved her,
selfishly, after the manner of mankind. I could not bring myself to give
her up, and pursued her with a passionate persistence which must plead
_her_ excuse. If her uncle had lived, I doubt whether I should ever have
succeeded. But his death left the tender womanly heart weakened by
sorrow; and so I won her, the dearest, truest wife that ever man was
blest withal. Yet, I confess to you, so wayward is my nature, that there
have been moments in which I repented my triumph--weak hours of doubt and
foreboding, in which I fear that dear girl divined my thoughts. Since our
wretched separation I have fancied sometimes that a conviction of this
kind on her part is at the root of the business, that she has alienated
herself from me, believing--in plain words--that I was tired of her."
"Such an idea as that would scarcely agree with Ellen Carley's account of
Marian's state of mind during that last day or two at the Grange. She was
eagerly expecting your return, looking forward with delight to the
pleasant surprise you were to experience when you heard of Jacob Nowell's
will."
"Yes, the girl told me that. Great heavens, why did I not return a few
days earlier! I was waiting for money, not caring to go back
empty-handed; writing and working like a nigger.
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