What other woman would have done it? What other woman would have kept
her love for him through it all? For she had loved him. It had never
been his money with her. She would have clung to him in sickness and
in poverty.
But Hilda loved his money. He knew it now as absolutely as if she had
said it. For the first time in weeks he saw clearly. Last night his
eyes had been opened.
He had been roused towards morning by those soft sounds in the second
room, which he had heard more than once in the passing weeks. In his
feverish moments, it had not seemed unlikely that his wife might be
there, coming back to haunt, with her gentle presence, the familiar
rooms. There was, indeed, her light step, the rustle of her silken
garments--.
Half-asleep he had listened, then had opened his eyes to find the
night-lamp burning, Hilda's book under it and Hilda gone!
The minutes passed as still his ears were strained. There was not a
sound in the house but that silken rustle. He wondered if he sought
Edith if she would speak to him. He rose and reached for his dressing
gown.
Hilda had grown careless; there was no screen in front of the second
door, and the crack was wide.
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