CHAPTER XVI.

THE FORSAKEN WIFE.

  He prayeth best who loveth most
    All things both great and small,
  For the good God who loveth us,
    He made and loveth all.

  —­Coleridge.

To account for the strange visit of the countess to Hannah Worth we must change the scene to Brudenell Hall.

From the time of her sudden arrival at her husband’s house, every hour had been fraught with suffering to Berenice.

In the first instance, where she had expected to give a joyful surprise, she had only given a painful shock; where she had looked for a cordial welcome, she had received a cold repulse; finally, where she had hoped her presence would confer happiness, it had brought misery!

On the very evening of her arrival her husband, after meeting her with reproaches, had fled from the house, leaving no clew to his destination, and giving no reason for his strange proceeding.

Berenice did not understand this.  She cast her memory back through all the days of her short married life spent with Herman Brudenell, and she sought diligently for anything in her conduct that might have given him offense.  She could find nothing.  Neither in all their intercourse had he ever accused her of any wrong-doing.  On the contrary, he had been profuse in words of admiration, protestations of love and fidelity.  Now what had caused this fatal change in his feelings and conduct towards her?  Berenice could not tell.  Her mind was as thoroughly perplexed as her heart was deeply wounded.  At first she did not know that he was gone forever.  She thought that he would return in an hour or two and openly accuse her of some fault, or that he would in some manner betray the cause of offense which he must suppose she had given him.  And then, feeling sure of her innocence, she knew she could exonerate herself from every shadow of blame—­except from that of loving him too well, if he should consider that a fault.

Therefore she waited patiently for his return; but when the night passed and he had not come, she grew more and more uneasy, and when the next day had passed without his making his appearance her uneasiness rose to intolerable anxiety.

The visit of poor Nora at night had aroused at once her suspicions, her jealousy, and her compassion.  She half believed that in this girl she saw her rival in her husband’s affections, the cause of her own repudiation and—­what was more bitter still to the childless Hebrew wife—­the mother of his children!  This had been very terrible!  But to the Jewish woman the child of her husband, even if it is at the same time the child of her rival, is as sacred as her own.  Berenice was loyal, conscientious, and compassionate.  In the anguish of her own deeply wounded and bleeding heart she had pitied and pleaded for poor Nora—­had even asserted her own authority as mistress of the house,