The next morning he was better, but nevertheless he was depressed.
It was now three months since his wedding-day, and the pomp and
beauty of the sunrise, gold and scarlet bars with intermediate lakes
of softest blue, had been obscured by leaden clouds, which showed no
break and let loose a cold drizzling rain. How was it? He often
asked himself that question, but could obtain no satisfactory answer.
Had anything changed? Was his wife anything which he did not know
her to be three months ago? Certainly not. He could not accuse her
of passing herself off upon him with false pretences. What she had
always represented herself to be she was now. There she stood
precisely as she stood twelve months ago, when he asked her to become
his wife, and he thought when she said "yes" that no man was more
blessed than he. It was, he feared, true he did not love her, nor
she him; but why could not they have found that out before? What a
cruel destiny was this which drew a veil before his eyes and led him
blindfold over the precipice! He at first thought, when his joy
began to ebb in February or March, that it would rise again, and that
he would see matters in a different light; but the spring was here,
and the tide had not turned.
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