“When you trampled all my rights and my happiness beneath your feet, when you seized and married me against my will, I excused you, for I said you loved me with a strong passion, and strong passions have their necessities and their rights. When you required me to give up my dearest friends, and lay aside habits of study and elegant amusements, that were a second nature to me, I said that your position gave you a right to dictate to me, and I acquiesced without a murmur. When you took my little child away from me, the only comfort I had left in the world, and sent her across the ocean, to remain at school for many years, I said you were her father, and what you did was doubtless intended for her good, however mistaken the intention might be, and I submitted. Recently, when you have laid violent hands upon my person, and endangered my life, I said it was violence of temper, not malignity of heart, and I resolved, for your sake and mine, to keep our secret, and to bear with it. I excused it—nay, I went farther, and vindicated it. No ill-usage, from mere violence of temper, could have affected my happiness. I do not know but that I thought you had a right to strike me if you were angry. Because I was superstitious and fanatical, and because I loved you then. They say that ‘perfect love casteth out fear.’ My love, imperfect as it was, cast out fear. When I conscientiously assisted at Elsie’s marriage, and remained home here to meet you, I nerved my heart to bear all your fury. I even said it would be just, coming from you. And no matter how much I had suffered at your hands, no matter if you had left me for dead, as you did once before, if I had recovered I could have gone on cheerily with my daily duties, as if nothing had happened. Because I could have understood violence, as I said: I could have understood anything that grew out of heat of passion—anything, but this clear-headed, cold-blooded treachery—because I loved you then. Nay! My God! I believe in my soul, I love you yet, and it is that which stings my self-respect to madness. It is that which lays my soul open to the entrance of the scornful, jibing spirit that mocks at my holiest instincts.” “Sit down! Sit down, I say!” vociferated General Garnet, striding toward her. Suddenly she fell at his feet, and raised her clasped hands, saying: