A further change was, however, in progress within him. The first sign
of it was that he began to doubt whether his wife had indeed been
false to him--had forsaken him in any other company than that of
Death. But there was one great difficulty in the way of the
conclusion. It was impossible for him to imagine suicide as proceeding
from any cause but insanity, and what could have produced the disorder
in one who had no cares or anxieties, everything she wanted, and
nothing to trouble her, a devoted husband, and a happy home? Yet the
mere idea made him think more pitifully, and so more tenderly of her
than before. It had not yet occurred to him to consider whether he
might not have had something to do with her conduct or condition.
Blame was a thing he had never made acquaintance with--least of all in
the form of self-blame. To himself he was simply all right--the poised
centre of things capable of righteous judgment on every one else. But
it must not be forgotten how little he knew about his own affairs at
all; his was a very different condition from that of one who had
closed his eyes and hardened his heart to suspicions concerning
himself. His eyes had never yet been opened to anything but the order
of things in the money world--its laws, its penalties, its
rewards--those he did understand. But apparently he was worth
troubling. A slow dissatisfaction was now preying upon him--a sense of
want--of not having something he once had, a vague discomfort, growing
restless. This feeling was no doubt the worse that the birth of the
child had brought such a sudden rush of fresh interest into his
occupation, which doubt concerning that birth had again so suddenly
checked; but even if the child should prove after all his own, a
supposition he was now willing to admit as possibly a true one, he
could never without his mother feel any enthusiasm about him, even
such enthusiasm as might be allowed to a man who knew money from
moonshine, and common sense from hysterics. Yet once and again, about
this time, the nurse coming into the room after a few minutes'
absence, found him bending over the sleeping infant, and, as she
described him, "looking as if he would have cried if he had only known
how."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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