“You cannot see him, sir.”

“But I tell you I must!  I shall remove him to his own house, where he can be properly attended to.  Where is he?”

“The physician particularly urged the necessity of keeping everything quiet.  He shall not be disturbed; but, as he is unconscious, perhaps it will afford you some gratification to behold the ruin you have wrought.  Gentlemen, here is your victim.”

She opened the door and suffered them to stand on the threshold and look at the prostrate form, with the head enveloped in icy cloths and the face bloated and purplish from bruises and fever.  Neither Proctor nor his companion could endure the smile of withering contempt which curled her lips as she pointed to the victim of their temptations and influence, and, with a half-suppressed imprecation, Proctor turned on his heel and left the house.  Apparently this brief visit quite satisfied them, for it was not repeated.  Days and nights of unremitted watching ensued; Eugene was wildly delirious, now singing snatches of drinking songs, and waving his hand, as if to his guests; and now bitterly upbraiding his wife for her heartlessness and folly.  The confinement of his fractured arm frenzied him; often he struggled violently to free himself, fancying that he was incarcerated in some horrid dungeon.  On the morning of the fourth day after the accident a carriage stopped at the cottage gate, and, springing out, Mr. Graham hurried into the house.  As he entered the sickroom and caught sight of the tossing sufferer, a groan escaped him, and he covered his eyes an instant, as if to shut out the vision.  Eugene imagined he saw one of the Heidelberg professors, and, laughing immoderately, began a rapid conversation in German.  Mr. Graham could not conceal his emotion, and, fearing its effect on the excitable patient, Beulah beckoned him aside and warned him of the possible consequences.  He grasped her hand, and asked the particulars of the occurrence, which had been mentioned to him vaguely.  She told him the account given by Eugene’s servants of the night’s revel, and then the denouement in front of her door.  In conclusion she said earnestly: 

“Where is his wife?  Why is she not here?”

“She seemed to think she could render no assistance; and, fearing that all would be over before we could get here, preferred my coming at once and writing to her of his condition.  Ah! she is miserably fitted for such scenes as you must have witnessed.”  And the gray-haired man sighed heavily.

“What! can she bear to commit her husband to other hands at such a crisis as this?  How can she live away from his side when every hour may be his last?  Oh, is she indeed so utterly, utterly heartless, selfish, callous?  Poor Eugene!  Better find release from such a union in death than go through life bound to a wife so unblushingly indifferent!”

Her face was one flash of scorn and indignation, and, extending her hand toward the restless invalid, she continued in a lower tone: