You will not tell me what it is--you have taken my
arms from your neck--you do not love me!"
"Do not torture me, Madaline," he said. "I am almost mad. I cannot bear
much more."
"But what is it? What have I done? I who you send from you now am the
same Madaline whom you married this morning--whom you kissed half an
hour since. Norman, I begin to think that I am in a terrible dream."
"I would to Heaven it were a dream. I am unnerved--unmanned--I have lost
my strength, my courage, my patience, my hope. Oh, Madaline, how can I
tell you?"
The sight of his terrible agitation seemed to calm her; she took his
hand in hers.
"Do not think of me," she said--"think of yourself. I can bear what you
can bear. Let me share your trouble, whatever it may be, my husband."
He looked at the sweet, pleading face. How could he dash the light and
brightness from it? How could he slay her with the cruel story he had to
tell. Then, in a low, hoarse voice, he said:
"You must know all, and I cannot say it. Read this letter, Madeline,
and then you will understand."
Chapter XXVII.
Slowly, wonderingly, Lady Arleigh took the Duchess of Hazlewood's letter
from her husband's hands and opened it.
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