“Oh, no; he never said an unkind word to me; and I was not always so forbearing, for I passed months of torment. I saw that affection, which was my all, gliding gradually away from me; and the tortured will cry out. I am not an ungoverned woman, but sometimes the agony was intolerable, and I complained. Well, that agony, I long for it back; for now I am desolate.” “Poor soul! How could a man have the heart to leave you? how could he have the face?” “Oh, he did not do it shamelessly. He left me for a week, to visit friends in England. But he wrote to me from London. He had left me at Berlin. He said that he did not like to tell me before parting, but I must not expect to see him for six weeks; and he desired me to go to my mother in Denmark. He would send his next letter to me there. Ah! he knew I should need my mother when his second letter came. He had planned it all, that the blow might not kill me. He wrote to tell me he was a ruined man, and he was too proud to let me support him: he begged my pardon for his love, for his desertion, for ever having crossed my brilliant path like a dark cloud. He praised me, he thanked me, he blessed me; but he left me. It was a beautiful letter, but it was the death-warrant of my heart. I was abandoned.” Ashmead started up and walked very briskly, with a great appearance of business requiring vast dispatch, to the other end of the _salle;_ and there, being out of Ina's hearing, he spoke his mind to a candlestick with three branches. “D--n him! Heartless, sentimental scoundrel! D--n him! D--n him!” Having relieved his mind with this pious ejaculation, he returned to Ina at a reasonable pace and much relieved, and was now enabled to say, cheerfully, “Let us take a business view of it. He is gone--gone of his own accord. Give him your blessing--I have given him mine--and forget him.” “Forget him! Never while I live. Is that your advice? Oh, Mr. Ashmead! And the moment I saw your friendly face, I said to myself, 'I am no longer alone: here is one that will help me.'” “And so I will, you may be sure of that,” said Ashmead, eagerly. “What is the business?” “The business is to find him. That is the first thing.” “But he is in England.” “Oh, no; that was eight months ago. He could not stay eight months in any country; besides, there are no gambling-houses there.” “And have you been eight months searching Europe for this madman?” “No. At first pride and anger were strong, and I said, 'Here I stay till he comes back to me and to his senses.'” “Brava!” “Yes; but month after month went by, carrying away my pride and my anger, and leaving my affection undiminished. At last I could bear it no longer; so, as he would not come to his senses--” “You took leave of yours, and came out on a wild-goose chase,” said Ashmead, but too regretfully to affront her.