Again and again Linwood assured her that no woman possessed his love but her.
Oh, what falsehood and deceit man can put on when dealing with woman's love!

The unabated storm kept Henry from returning home until
after the clock had struck two, and as he drew near
his residence he saw his wife standing at the window.
Giving his horse in charge of the servant who was waiting,
he entered the house, and found his wife in tears.
Although he had never satisfied Gertrude as to who the quadroon
woman and child were, he had kept her comparatively easy
by his close attention to her, and by telling her that she
was mistaken in regard to the child's calling him "papa."
His absence that night, however, without any apparent cause,
had again aroused the jealousy of Gertrude; but Henry told her
that he had been caught in the rain while out, which prevented
his sooner returning, and she, anxious to believe him,
received the story as satisfactory.

Somewhat heated with brandy, and wearied with much loss of sleep,
Linwood fell into a sound slumber as soon as he retired.
Not so with Gertrude. That faithfulness which has ever
distinguished her sex, and the anxiety with which she watched
all his movements, kept the wife awake while the husband slept.
His sleep, though apparently sound, was nevertheless uneasy.
Again and again she heard him pronounce the name of Isabella,
and more than once she heard him say, "I am not married;
I will never marry while you live." Then he would speak
the name of Clotelle and say, "My dear child, how I love you!"

After a sleepless night, Gertrude arose from her couch,