Emily was very much pleased by this letter, and yet she wept over it. She felt that she understood accurately all the motives that were at work within the man's breast when he was writing it. As to its truth,--of course the letter was gospel to her. Oh,--if the man could become her husband's friend how sweet it would be! Of course she wished, thoroughly wished, that her husband should succeed at Silverbridge. But she could understand that such a contest as this might be carried on without personal animosity. The letter was so like Arthur Fletcher,--so good, so noble, so generous, so true! The moment her husband came in she showed it to him with delight. "I was sure," she said as he was reading the letter, "that he had not known that you were to stand." "He knew it as well as I did," he replied, and as he spoke there came a dark scowl across his brow. "His writing to you is a piece of infernal impudence." "Oh, Ferdinand!" "You don't understand, but I do. He deserves to be horsewhipped for daring to write to you, and if I can come across him he shall have it." "Oh,--for heaven's sake!" "A man who was your rejected lover,--who has been trying to marry you for the last two years, presuming to commence a correspondence with you without your husband's sanction!" "He meant you to see it. He says I am to tell you." "Psha! That is simple cowardice. He meant you not to tell me; and then when you had answered him without telling me, he would have had the whip-hand of you." "Oh, Ferdinand, what evil thoughts you have!" "You are a child, my dear, and must allow me to dictate to you what you ought to think in such a matter as this. I tell you he knew all about my candidature, and that what he has said here to the contrary is a mere lie;--yes, a lie." He repeated the word because he saw that she shrank at hearing it; but he did not understand why she shrank,--that the idea of such an accusation against Arthur Fletcher was intolerable to her. "I have never heard of such a thing," he continued. "Do you suppose it is common for men who have been thrown over to write to the ladies who have rejected them immediately after their marriage?" "Do not the circumstances justify it?" "No;--they make it infinitely worse. He should have felt himself to be debarred from writing to you, both as being my wife and as being the wife of the man whom he intends to oppose at Silverbridge." This he said with so much anger that he frightened her. "It is not my fault," she said. "No; it is not your fault. But you should regard it as a great fault committed by him." "What am I to do?" "Give me the letter. You, of course, can do nothing." "You will not quarrel with him?"