The question confused me. I had dropped it in the agitation of my
feelings, without being conscious of its loss.
"Take another," said he, with a smile, "and let your cares end in
smoke as you wend homeward. My most profound thoughts come from
my cigar. To that I look for my philosophy, my friendship, my
love--almost my religion. A cigar is a brain-comforter, verily.
You should smoke more, Clifford. You will grow better, wiser--COOLER."
"I take your cigar and counsel together," was my reply. "The one
shall reconcile me to the other. Bon repos!" And so I left him.
I was not likely to have bon repos myself. I was troubled. Kingsley
suspects me of being jealous. Such an idea was very mortifying.
This is another weakness of the suspicious nature. It loathes
above all things to be suspected of jealousy. I hurried home,
vexed with my want of coolness--doubly vexed at the belief that
other eyes than my own were witnesses of the attentions of Edgerton
to my wife.
I stopped at the entrance of our cottage. HE was there as usual.
Mrs. Porterfield was not present. The candle was burning dimly. He
sat upon the sofa. Julia was seated upon chair at a little distance.
Her features wore an expression of exceeding gravity. His were pale
and sad, but his eyes burnt with an eager intensity that betrayed
the passionate feeling in his heart. Thus they sat--she looking
partly upon the floor--he looking at her. I observed them for
more than ten minutes; and in all that time I do not believe they
exchanged two sentences.
"Surely," I thought, "this must be a singularly sufficing passion
which can enjoy itself in this manner without the help of language."
Of course, this reflection increased the strength of my suspicions.
I became impatient, and entered the cottage. The eyes of Julia
seemed to brighten at my appearance, but they were aiso full of
sadness. Edgerton soon after rose and took his departure. I believe,
if I had stayed away till midnight, he would have lingered until
that time; but I also believe that if I had returned two hours
before, he would have gone as soon. His passion for the wife seemed
to produce an antipathy to the husband, quite as naturally as that
which grew up in my bosom in regard to him. When he was gone, my
wife approached me, almost vehemently exclaiming-"Why, why do you leave me thus, Clifford? Surely you can not love
me."
"Indeed I do; but I was with Kingsley. I had business, and did not
suppose you would miss me."
"Why suppose otherwise, Edward? I do miss you. I beg that you will
not leave me thus again."
"What do you mean? You are singularly earnest, Julia. What has
happened? What has offended you? Was not Edgerton with you all the
evening?"