ing himself from his reverie, he kissed it gently, he murmured—
"When I look on you, I will believe that she once loved me—Pah!" he said abruptly, and rising,—"this fatherly sentiment for a 's offering is exquisite in me!" So saying, without glancing towards his wife, who, disturbed by the loudness of his last words, stirred uneasily, he left the room, and descended into that where he had conversed with his guest. He shut the door with caution, and striding to and fro the humble apartment, gave vent to thoughts marshalled somewhat in the broken array in which they now appear to the reader.
"Ay, ay, she has been my ruin! and if I were one of your weak fools who make a gospel of the silliest and most mawkish follies of this damnable social state, she would now be my disgrace; but, instead of my disgrace, I will make her my footstool to honour and wealth. And, then, to the devil with the footstool! Yes! two years I have borne what was enough to turn my whole blood into gall!—inactivity—hopelessness—a wasted heart and life in myself—contumely from the world,
