But the
effects of these scorpion reproaches in his bosom were not less
destructive of her peace than of his own. He saw that his wedded
Therese was unweariedly anxious to soothe the mysterious wanderings
of his mind with her softest tenderness. But his thoughts were,
indeed, far from her, ever hovering over the changed image of his so
lately adored Edith--ever agonizing over the lightness of a conduct
so unlike her former virgin delicacy, so unlike the clinging vows she
breathed to him in their hour of boding separation!--ever execrating
the perfidy of his brother, which had brought on him this distracting
load of guilt and woe!
In this temper of alienation from all the world, a second packet from
England was put into his hand. Again he saw Edith's writing; but he
dropped it unopened, in horror of the signature he anticipated would
be appended to it. Roused by resentment towards him whose name he
believed she then bore, he tore asunder the wax of a letter from his
father, which was sealed with black. His eyes were speedily riveted
to it. Sir Fulke, in the language of deep contrition, confessed a
train of deception that petrified his son. He declared, with bitter
invectives against himself, that all which had been communicated to
that unhappy son relating to Edith and her intended marriage with
Algernon had been devised by that unkind brother, and his no less
unnatural father, for the treacherous purpose of that marriage.
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