I could comprehend his hate, knowing his character, and guessing Geraldine's power of exciting hate in those she hated. When she had found his love decay, when her nature had turned sour under the corrupting sense of his violated vows and her betrayed confidence, I could guess the kind of light his presence would fire her eyes with, the kind of language with which she would lash him into madness. When he applied again for work he found that his conduct had excited a prejudice, and that the schools in which he had always found a welcome reception closed their doors against him. He resolved to change his name, not knowing how far this prejudice might extend; and the better to commence his life afresh announced his death in the newspapers. He found employment; but his means were narrow, his occupation very limited, when my advertisement met his eye. When he was once with me, it may be supposed he was not very eager to go. He had recognised his wife on meeting her in the fields, but had kept his secret well. When he found that I was resolved to marry her he must have resolved upon that scheme, of threatening her with exposure unless she purchased his silence, which cost him his life. I suspect he had hardly resolution enough to prosecute his plan at first. He had hung about Cliffegate, so it was ascertained, after he had left Elmore Court, living upon the money I had paid him. Some years have elapsed since those days. I still occupy the house in London which I took after getting rid of Elmore Court, and Mrs. Williams continues to be my housekeeper. My old dream of senatorial or literary honour has never recurred. Like Imlac, I am now contented to be driven along the stream of life without directing my course to any particular port. The dead belong to the past, and I will not ravish from the grave in which she lies that great sorrow of mine which lies buried with her. No record of my grief shall plead for her; no memorial of my despair shall be set down to moderate your judgment of her. She is dead. Her beauty, her love, her madness, are nothing now but a memory and a pang. THE END. LONDON: Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Deceased Wife's Sister, and My Beautiful Neighbour, v. 3, by William Clark Russell