came upon her sitting in such a daze of misery, that she did not
recognize me when I spoke to her. I thought it was a passing
mood at the time; she is a sensitive woman and she had been
reading--I saw the book lying on the floor at her side; but when,
having recovered from her dejection--a dejection, mind you, which
she would neither acknowledge nor explain--she accompanied me
out to dinner, she showed even more feeling on our return,
shrinking unaccountably from leaving the carriage and showing,
not only in this way but in others, a very evident distaste to
reenter her own house. Now, whatever hold I still retain upon
her is of so slight a nature that I am afraid every day she will
leave me."

"Leave you!"

My fingers paused; my astonishment had got the better of me.

"Yes; it is as bad as that. I don't know what day you will send
me a telegram of three words, 'She has gone.' Yet she loves me,
really and truly loves me. That is the mystery of it. More than
this, her very heart-strings are knit up with those of our
child."

"Mayor Packard,"--I had resumed work,--"was any letter delivered
to her that day?"

"That I can not say."

Fact one for me to establish.