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Updated: May 21, 2025
She was very beautiful, and, in an unlucky hour, he determined to marry her. She was a mere child, and he placed her for a while at a school, where she enjoyed every educational advantage. He was completely fascinated; seemed to think only of Creola, and hastened the marriage.
"I have decided," said she. Her cheeks burned; her lashes drooped. "Well?" "Well, if I am to have a tyrant, I believe I prefer belonging to you?" He frowned. She smiled and looked up at him. "Beulah, I don't want a grateful wife. Do you understand me?" "Yes, sir." Just then his eyes rested on the portrait of Creola, which hung opposite.
He had hastened the marriage; the old place had been thoroughly repaired and refurnished, and this morning she would go home a wife. She clasped her hands over her eyes; the future looked fearful. She knew the passionate, exacting nature of the man with whose destiny she was about to link her own, and she shrank back, as the image of Creola rose before her. The door opened, and Mrs.
She seemed to grow frantic, cursed the hour of her marriage, professed sincere attachment to the other, and, I firmly believe, became insane from that moment. Then and there they parted. Creola returned to her mother, but died suddenly a few weeks after leaving her husband. They had been married but a year. I have always thought her mind diseased, and it was rumored that her mother died insane.
Without a word he folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope, and left us. Soon after his mother died, and he went immediately to Europe. He was absent two years, and came back so stern, so cynical, so unlike his former self, I scarcely knew him. Mrs. Chilton took charge of his house from the hour of his separation from Creola; but they were not congenial.
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