Revelation--The Letter of Julia

Three days had elapsed after her burial, when I re-opened and
re-appeared in my office. I did not re-open it with any intention
to resume my business. That was impossible in a place, where, at
every movement, the grave of my victim rose, always green, in my
sight. My purpose was to put my papers in order transfer them to
other parties, dispose of my effects, and depart with Kingsley to
the new countries, of which he had succeeded in impressing upon
me some of his own opinions. Not that these furnished for me any
attractions. I was not persuaded by any customary arguments held
out to the ambitious and the enterprising. It was a matter of small
moment to me where I went, so that I left the present scene of my
misery and over-throw. In determining to accompany him to Texas,
no part of my resolve was influenced by the richness of its soil,
or the greatness of its probable destinies. These, though important
in the eyes of my friend, were as nothing in mine. In taking that
route my object was simply, TO GO WITH HIM. He had sympathized with
me, after a rough fashion of his own, the sincerity of which was
more dear to me than the rougbress was repulsive. He had witnessed
my cares--he knew my guilt and my griefs--this knowledge endeared
him to me more strongly than ever, and made him now more necessary
to my affections than any other living object.

I re-opened my office and resumed my customary seat at the table.
But I sat only to ruminate upon things and thoughts which, following
the track of memory, diverted my sight as well as my mind, from
all present objects. I saw nothing before me, except vaguely, and
in a sort of shadow. I had a hazy outline of books against the
wall; and a glimmering show of papers and bundles upon the table.
I sat thus for some time, lost in painful and humiliating revery.
Suddenly I caught a glimpse of a packet on the table, which I did
not recollect to have seen before. It bore my name. I shuddered to
behold it, for it was in the handwriting of my wife. This, then,
was the writing upon which she had been secretly engaged, for so
many days, and of which Mrs. Porterfield had given me the first
intimation. I remembered the words of Julia when she assured
me that it was intended for me--when she playfully challenged my
curiosity, and implored me to acknowledge an anxiety to knew the
contents. The pleading tenderness of her speech and manner now rose
vividly to my recollection. It touched me more now--now that the
irrevocable step had been taken--far more than it ever could have
affected me then. Then, indeed, I remained unaffected save by the
caprice of my evil genius. The demon of the blind heart was then
uppermost. In vain now did I summon him to my relief. Where was
he? Why did he not come?