"Ay," whispered jealousy, "and then she will marry Henry Little."
"And am I sure to succeed if I persist in crime? Deserve her hatred and contempt, and is it certain they will not both fall on me?"
"The fault began with them. He supplanted me--she jilted me. I hate him--I love her. I can't give her up now; I have gone too far. What is intercepting a letter? I have been too near murder to stop at that."
"But her pale face! her pale face!"
"Once married, supplant him as he has supplanted you. Away to Italy with her. Fresh scenes--constant love--the joys of wedlock! What will this Henry Little be to her then?--a dream."
"Eternal punishment; if it is not a fable, who has ever earned it better than I am earning it if I go on?"
"It IS a fable; it must be. Philosophers always said so, and now even divines have given it up."
"Her pale face! her pale face! Never mind HIM, look at her. What sort of love is this that shows no pity? Oh, my poor girl, don't look so sad--so pale! What shall I do? Would to God I had never been born, to torture myself and her!"