prompt action, temporary humiliation, the generous sympathies of friendship, the tenderness of woman, the self-oblivion of wifehood, theOh God! I cannot ask you to"
"You could not, would not ask me to do a wicked, nor even a wrong thing, Glentworth, for my father's sake; you are an honourable man, and even a religious man, which goes far beyond earthly honour in its demands. You do not ask me to do wrong!"
"God forbid! No, there is neither sin nor shame in what I require; but there is partial, apparent degradation—such as taking the character of a servant, a—a—nurse to a sick—indeed a dying lady; the Marchesa di Morello, who is, in fact, your own cousin, and who earnestly desires to know you. I must not, however, disguise from you that her motive originates in love for me—love that must soon be quenched in death."
"I know my father had a sister, whose name was added by him to that of Isabella at the font; but I was never called by it. The Margarita murmured in your dreams, Glentworth, was this Marchesa. Poor Isabella had no share in your thoughts—God help me!"
The low, deep tones of Isabella's self-commiserating voice cleft the heart of her husband—he threw himself on the couch, hid his face, and sobbed in agony, saying something that seemed like blame to himself for having rendered her so wretched; but his words were inarticulate from suffocating grief.
