Indian Summer

"Well! I pondered upon the horrible affair until I could hold my
peace no longer. Frederic and Florence went home with Mary Trent
next morning, and knowing that Winston must pass the upper gate on
his way to court, I put on my bonnet soon after breakfast, and
strolled in that direction. By and by he rode up, stopped his horse,
and began to talk so sociably that before I quite knew what I was
doing, I was in the middle of my story. I wonder now how I did it,
but I was excited, and he listened so patiently, questioned so
quietly, that I did not realize, for several hours afterward, what a
blaze I must have kindled in his heart and home, whether he believed
me or not. The next thing I heard was not, as I expected, that he
and his wife had quarrelled, or that he was going to challenge
Frederic for having belied him, but that poor Dorrance was very ill
with some affection of the brain. It was not until a year
later--just after his death--that people began to talk about the
strange carryings-on at Ridgeley; how Mr. and Mrs. Aylett occupied
separate apartments, and never sat, or walked, or rode together, or
spoke to one another, even at table, unless there were visitors
present. Nobody could imagine what caused the estrangement, and for
the sake of the family honor I guarded my tongue. She must be a
wretched woman, if all of this be true. She is breaking fast under
it, in spite of her pride and skill in concealment. I ought not to
pity her when I remember how wicked she has been; but there is a
look in her eye when she is not laughing or talking that gives me
the heart-ache."