“Go, by all means, if you can,” replied Mrs. Anthony.  “Dear child!  I shouldn’t wonder if that jealous husband of hers had done something to induce this attack.  Brain fever don’t come on without mental excitement of some kind.  I can’t bear him; and I believe, if the truth were known, it would be found that she hates the very sight of him.  He’s a man made of money; and that’s saying the best that can be said.  As to qualities of the mind and heart, she ranks, in everything, his superior.  What a sacrifice of all that such a woman holds dear must have been made when she consented to become the wedded wife of Leon Dexter!”

Hendrickson heard no more, for a third party coming up at the moment, led to a change in the conversation.  At the same instant Mrs. Arden and her daughter entered the room, and he arose and stepped forward to meet them.

“How pale you look, Mr. Hendrickson!” said Mrs. Arden, with concern.  “Are you not well?”

“I have not felt as bright as usual, for some days,” he answered, trying to force a smile, but without success.  “Your daughter has, no doubt, already informed you that I proved myself one of the dullest of travelling companions.”

“Oh, no,” Miss Arden spoke up quickly.  “Ma knows that I gave you credit for being exceedingly agreeable.  But, indeed, Mr. Hendrickson, you look ill.”

“I am slightly indisposed,” he answered, “and with your leave will retire to my room.  I shall feel better after lying down.”

“Go by all means,” said Mrs. Arden.

Hendrickson bowed low, and, passing them, left the parlor almost hurriedly.

“Dangerously ill!  A brain fever!” he said aloud, as he gained his own apartment and shut the door behind him.  He was deeply disturbed.  That their unexpected meeting had something to do with this sudden sickness he now felt sure.  Her strong, though quickly controlled agitation he had seen; it was a revelation never to be forgotten; and showed the existence of a state of feeling in regard to her husband which must render her very existence a burden.  That she was closely watched, he had seen, as well as heard.  And it did not appear to him improbable, considering the spirit he had observed her display, that coincident with his departure from Newport, some jealous accusations had been made, half maddening her spirit, and stunning her brain with excitement.

“Angel in the keeping of a fiend!” he exclaimed, as imagination drew improbable scenes of persecution.  “How my heart aches for you—­yearns towards you—­longs for the dear privilege of making all your paths smooth and fragrant; all your hours golden-winged; all your states peaceful!  How precious you are to me!  Precious as my own soul—­dear counterpart! loving complement!  Vain, as your own strife with yourself, has been my strife.  The burden has been too heavy for us; the ordeal too fiery.  My brain grows wild at thought of this terrible wrong.”