Fair as the scene of her life was, to
poor Rosamond it seemed as if the earth were overshadowed by dark
clouds, through which no ray of sunlight could penetrate. The affection
which had sprung up between her and Susan Jernam was deep and strong,
and the only gleam of happiness which Rosamond experienced in her
melancholy existence came from the affection of her husband's aunt.
If Rosamond's existence was not happy, it was, at least in all outward
seeming, peaceful. But the heart of the deserted wife knew not peace.
She was perpetually brooding over the strange circumstances of George's
departure--perpetually asking herself why it was he had left her.
She could shape no answer to that constantly repeated question.
Had he ceased to love her? No! surely that could not be, for the change
which arises in the most inconstant heart is, at least, gradual. George
Jernam had changed in a day--in an hour.
Reason upon the subject as she might, the conviction at which Rosamond
arrived at last was always the same. She believed that the mysterious
change that had arisen in the husband she so fondly loved was a change
in the mind itself--a sudden monomania, beyond the influence of the
outer world--a wild hallucination of the brain, not to be cured by any
ordinary physician.
Believing this, the wife's heart was tortured as she thought of the
perils that surrounded her husband's life--perils that were doubly
terrible for one whose mind had lost its even balance.
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