“I scarce believe you,” said the widow, “but I will send down to-morrow to the cottage, which has been pointed out to me as her residence, and learn the truth.”
“She must remove, then, before to-morrow,” said Derode to himself as he drove home. “Fool that I was to bring her here; however, I suppose I can ship her home again, consigned to her plodding Yankee husband, who will be rejoiced that his wife has seen the world free of expense.”
Night had closed in when Derode arrived at the cottage. Mrs. Anson was ill. She had been in a high fever, as the abigail informed the major, and delirious. She was calmer now, however, and he approached her couch.
“How unlucky you are ill at this time,” said he, “for circumstances render it necessary for you to quit this place immediately.”
“Let me remain a few days longer,” replied the heart-broken woman, “and my next remove will be to the peaceful grave.”
“It is impossible—to-morrow morning, the earlier the better, you _must_ depart.”
“Why, reflection must have convinced you that it was an imprudent step to leave your husband; nay, tears are useless now,—the frolic was pleasant enough while it lasted, but it is time to think of more serious matters. My advice to you is, that you immediately return home, solicit your husband’s forgiveness, and no doubt that will be the end of the affair. For myself, you must know it—and it is best you should learn it at once—my pecuniary involvements make it imperative on me to marry immediately—the sale of this furniture will enable you—”
But his voice fell on a dull ear. Mrs. Anson heard nothing after the word “marry,” and she lay in a death-like swoon. Finding she did not revive immediately, Derode consigned her to the care of her maid, and hastily wrote the following lines:—
“Madam,—Our unfortunate connexion must be broken off at once. I can see you no more. I enclose you twenty pounds, a sum sufficient to bear your expenses to America. My last command is, that you quit this cottage to-morrow morning.
He gave the note to the girl, for her mistress, and left the house.
“How do you feel now, madam?” enquired the maid, as Mrs. Anson opened her heavy eyes, and pressed her hands against her temples, as if endeavoring to collect her thoughts, “can I do anything for you, madam?”