Verge of the Precipice

I gave the letter to Julia without a word. She did not look at me
while extending the hand to receive it, and hurried to her chamber
without breaking the seal. I watched her departing form with a vague,
painful emotion of inquiry, such as would possess the bosom of one,
looking on a dear object, with whom he felt that a disruption was
hourly threatened of every earthly tie. That day she ate no dinner.
Her brow was clouded throughout the meal. Edgerton was present,
seemingly as well as at his first arrival. I had learned casually
from Mrs. Porterfield that he had been in our little parlor all
the morning; while another remark from the good old lady gave me
a new idea of the employment of my wife.

"This writing," said she, addressing the latter, "does your eyes
no good. Indeed they look as if you had been crying over your task."

"What writing?" I asked, looking at Julia, She blushed, but said
nothing, and the blush passed off, leaving the sadness more distinct
than ever.

"Oh, she has been writing whole sheets for the last two mornings.
I went in this morning to bring her out to assist me in entertaining
Mr. Edgerton, who looked so lonesome; and I do assure you I thought
at first, from the quantity of writing, that you had given her some
of your law-papers to do. The table was covered with it."

"Indeed!" said I--"this must be looked into. It will not do for the
wife to take the husband's business from him. It looks mischievous,
Mrs. Porterfield--there's something wrong about it."