Chapter xlviii. What Else Could i Do?
As soon as I could dry my eyes and compose my spirits after reading the wife’s pitiable and dreadful farewell, my first thought was of Eustace — my first anxiety was to prevent him from ever reading what I had read.
Yes! to this end it had come. I had devoted my life to the attainment of one object; and that object I had gained. There, on the table before me, lay the triumphant vindication of my husband’s innocence; and, in mercy to him, in mercy to the memory of his dead wife, my one hope was that he might never see it! my one desire was to hide it from the public view!
I looked back at the strange circumstances under which the letter had been discovered.
It was all my doing — as the lawyer had said. And yet, what I had done, I had, so to speak, d
