He handed it back, and said, coldly:
"Read me the passage, madam, on which you argue."
Poor Mrs. Vane turned the letter in her hand, and her eye became
instantly glazed; the seal was unbroken! She gave a sharp cry of agony,
like a wounded deer. She saw Pomander no longer; she was alone with her
great anguish. "I had but my husband and my God in the world," cried she.
"My mother is gone. My God, have pity on me! my husband does not love
me."
The cold villain was startled at the mighty storm his mean hand had
raised. This creature had not only more feeling, but more passion, than a
hundred libertines. He muttered some villain's commonplaces; while this
unhappy young lady raised her hands to heaven, and sobbed in a way very
terrible to any manly heart.
"He is unworthy you," muttered Pomander. "He has forfeited your love. He
has left you nothing but revenge. Be comforted. Let me, who have learned
already to adore you--"
"So," cried she, turning on him in a moment (for, on some points, woman's
instinct is the lightning of wisdom), "this, sir, was your object? I may
no longer hold a place in my husband's heart; but I am mistress of his
house. Leave it, sir! and never return to it while I live."
Sir Charles, again discomfited, bowed reverentially. "Your wish shall
ever be respected by me, madam! But here they come. Use the right of a
wife.
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