Of course, my language and manner were stripped of everything that might alarm his fears. He hesitated, but complied. The carriage was at the door before we had finished breakfast; and with no other object than simply to afford her another opportunity for the desired revelation, I once more went up to my wife's chamber. Here I lingered fully ten minutes, affecting to search for a paper in trunks where I knew it could not be found. While thus engaged I spoke to her frequently and fondly. She did not need the impulse to make her revelation, except in her own heart. The occasion was unemployed. She suffered me once more to depart in silence; and this time I felt as if the word of utter and inevitable wo had been spoken. The hour had gone by for ever. I could no longer resist the conviction of her shameless guilt. All her sighs and tears, professions of love and devotion, the fond tenacity of her embrace, the deep-seated earnestness and significance in her looks--all went for nothing in her failure to utter the one only, and all-important communication. Let no woman, on any pretext, however specious, deceive herself with the fatal error, that she can safely harbor, unspoken to her husband, the secret of any insult, or base approach, of another to herself! CHAPTER XLVIII. TOO LATE! Edgerton announced himself to be in readiness, and, at the same time, declared his intention to withdraw at once from our hospitality and return to his old lodging-house. He had already given instructions to his servant for the removal of his things. “What!” I said with a feeling of irony, which did not make itself apparent in my speech--“you are tired of our hospitality, Edgerton? We have not treated you well, I am afraid.” “Yes,” he muttered faintly, “too well. I have every reason to be gratified and grateful. No reason to complain.” He forced himself to say something more by way of acknowledgment; but to this I gave little heed. We drove first to Kingsley's, and took him up; then, to my office, where I got out, and, entering the office, wrapped up my pistol-case carefully in a newspaper, so that the contents might not be conjectured, and bringing it forth, thrust it into the boot of the carriage. “What have you got there?” demanded Kingsley. “Something for digestion,” was my reply. “We may be kept late.” “You are wise enough to be a traveller,” said Kingsley; and without further words we drove on. I fancied that when I put the case into the vehicle, Edgerton looked somewhat suspicious. That he was uneasy was evident enough. He could not well be otherwise. The consciousness of guilt was enough to make him so; and then there was but little present sympathy between himself and Kingsley. I had already given the driver instructions. He carried us into the loneliest spot of woods some four miles from M----, and in a direction very far from the beaten track. “What brings you into this quarter?” demanded Kingsley. “What business have you here?”