“In a tremor of anger and excitement I quitted the spot, my mind wholly made up with regard to my future.  That there was something wrong about Genevra I did not doubt, and I would not give her a chance to explain by telling her what I had seen, but sent her back to England, giving her ample means for defraying the expenses of her journey and for living in comfort after her arrival there.  From Rome we went to Naples, and then to Switzerland, where Hatty died, leaving us alone with little Jamie.  It was here at Berne that I received an anonymous letter from England, the writer stating that Genevra was with her aunt, that the whole had ended as he thought it would, that he could readily guess at the nature of the trouble, and hinting that if a divorce was desirable on my return to England, all necessary proof could be obtained by applying to such a number in London, the writer announcing himself a brother of the man who had once sought Genevra, and saying he had always opposed the match, knowing Genevra’s family.

“This was the first time the idea of a divorce had entered my mind.  Instead of that the hope that Genevra might in some way be restored to me unspotted, had unconsciously been the daystar of my existence, and I shrank from a final separation.  But mother felt differently.  It was not a new thought to her, knowing as she did that the validity of a Scotch marriage, such as ours, was frequently contested in the English courts.  Once free from Genevra the world this side the water would never know of that mistake, and she set herself steadily to accomplish her purpose.  To tell you all that followed our return to England and the steps by which I was brought to sue for a divorce would make my story too long, and so I will only state that, chiefly by the testimony of the anonymous letter writer, whose acquaintance we made, a divorce was at last obtained, Genevra putting in no defense, but as I heard afterward, settling down to an apathy from which nothing had power to rouse her until the news of her freedom from me was carried to her, when, amid a paroxysm of tears and sobs she wrote me a few lines, assuring me of her innocence, refusing to send back her wedding ring, and saying God would not forgive me for the great wrong I had done her.  I saw her once after that by appointment and her face haunted me for years.  Indeed, I sometimes see it in my dreams as it confronted me then, with a look which I now know was a look of deeply injured innocence, for, Katy, Genevra was innocent, as I found after the time was past when reparation could be made.”

Wilford’s voice trembled now, and for a moment there was silence in the room while he composed himself to go on with the story: