The deserted wifeSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The deserted wife
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
American fiction -- 19th century; Maryland -- Fiction
“Dear young lady, I have startled you; _why_ I do not see; will you give
me an interview in some place where we cannot be interrupted?”
“Tell me who you are?”
“You are not afraid of me?”
“No—oh, no; but I wish, of course, to know the name and business of one
who calls me out at night for a private interview.”
“My name is Frank Raymond Withers; I am the only son, the only _child_
of the Reverend John Huss Withers, and Fanny Raymond.”
There was a dash of bitterness in the mock ceremonious manner with which
he announced himself. Sophie heard him with clasped hands and earnest
downcast brow. She remained in deep thought a moment; then suddenly
catching his hand, she said,
“Yes, I _must_ have an interview with you, where none can overhear us.
Come with me,” and retaining his hand and drawing him after her, she
passed up the piazza, down the central marble steps, across the lawn,
and taking a narrow path through the grove, led him down a deep dell,
into a rustic arbor built over the spring, dropping into a seat, she
said,
“Dip me up some cold water, that I may drink, and grow strong for this
interview.”
He performed her bidding. She bathed her fevered hands and brow, she
drank a deep draught of the lifegiving beverage, and then she composed
herself, and said, as he stood before her,
“Sit down; I _too_ have something to reveal, as well as to learn.”
He took a seat opposite to her.
“First, what was your purpose in seeking me, this evening?”
“To save you from a marriage that could result in nothing but
wretchedness and ruin.”
“Explain yourself!”
“Your husband, John Huss Withers, is—a lunatic!”
“What?”
“A _lunatic_!”
“Gracious heavens! Oh, yes! I see it all—_all now_!—that fearful light
in his eyes!”
“And you will withdraw yourself from him before it is too late; you will
reveal this fact and demand an immediate separation?”
“Stop, stop,” said Sophie, raising her hand to her brow, “Stop, I am
dizzy, bewildered; how came this about? how has he so successfully
concealed it for the months that he has been with us? and is it
_hereditary_? Tell me all about it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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