"But I am anticipating. Toward the close of the year 1834, I received a letter, purporting to be from a gentleman residing in Nice, and who professed great interest in me. This letter, though cautiously written, yet more than hinted at the unfaithfulness of my wife, and the perfidy of her companion, Ralph Mortimer. When I received it, like the bite of a poisonous serpent, it instantly diffused itself through every vein in my body. I gnashed my teeth that I could not get my hands upon the villain, and tear him to pieces. But I was thousands of miles away, and must bear my dishonor as best I might. After a night, spent in such horror as no words can describe, I determined to resign my commission, to sacrifice everything in order to get home. What was to become of me when there I never thought. But before I could accomplish my wishes, the idea which waking or sleeping was ever before me, of him whom I considered too vile, even for the company of devils, in the constant society and love of my hitherto adored wife--this idea so wrought upon a frame enfeebled by a hot climate, that I was laid upon my couch with fever. So violent was this attack, that there was no hope of my recovery. For weeks, I lay unconscious; but when I recovered my reason, and was told I could not live, I knew better. I was sure I should be allowed to unmask the traitor, and expose Mortimer to infamy. I was right. I recovered so rapidly that the most sanguine expectations of my friends were more than realized; and far sooner than I had even dared to hope, I was ready to sail for England. But I had nearly failed in this, for when about to embark, having all my goods on board, I received another letter, containing intelligence which had I doubted before, would now, alas! have left no farther room for doubt. Burning with rage, I was carried on board ship, where, by a dreadful relapse of fever, I was brought a second time to the borders of the grave. Again mercy interposed, and I partially recovered. But I felt no gratitude for restored health,--no thanks to the Being who had preserved me amidst so many dangers. All the feelings of my soul were concentrated into one burning desire for revenge, and every moment which delayed this, was an age to my impatient spirit. "I landed in England, and without an hour's delay took passage for Havre, from which place I proceeded to Nice. "Oh, my son Eugene! I have taken up my pen many times, and unable to relate, even to you, the awful, the shocking events which followed, have again and again been obliged to lay it down. But justice to your departed mother requires the sacrifice, and it shall be made. "I reached Nice, and with the fires of Etna raging within me, I drove directly to the home of Imogen. She was not in. One of the servants informed me she had gone out to walk with Mr. Mortimer.