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Updated: May 15, 2025
Major Fitz-David lifted his well-painted eyebrows in polite surprise. "What is the happy book which has interested you so deeply?" he asked. "The book," I answered, "is the Trial of my husband for the murder of his first wife." "Don't mention that horrid book!" he exclaimed. "Don't speak of that dreadful subject! What have beauty and grace to do with Trials, Poisonings, Horrors?
The woman doesn't live who would have done otherwise when she had a particular favor to ask of Major Fitz-David. As I opened the dining-room door the Major hastened to meet me. He looked the brightest and the youngest of living elderly gentlemen, with his smart blue frock-coat, his winning smile, his ruby ring, and his ready compliment. It was quite cheering to meet the modern Don Juan once more.
Why is his innocence not proved? It ought to be, it must be, it shall be! If the Trial tell me it can't be done, I refuse to believe the Trial. Where is the book, Major? Let me see for myself if his lawyers have left nothing for his wife to do. Did they love him as I love him? Give me the book!" Major Fitz-David looked at Benjamin.
"I mean to consult Miserrimus Dexter," I answered, boldly. Mrs. Macallan started back from me with a loud exclamation of surprise. "Are you out of your senses?" she asked. I told her, as I had told Major Fitz-David, that I had reason to think Mr. Dexter's advice might be of real assistance to me at starting. "And I," rejoined Mrs.
"At your age, Major, do you think you have much time to lose?" asked a strange voice, speaking behind us. We all three looked around toward the door. There stood my husband's mother, smiling satirically, with Benjamin's shy little maid-servant waiting to announce her. Major Fitz-David was ready with his answer. The old soldier was not easily taken by surprise. "Age, my dear Mrs.
Major Fitz-David poured out a glass of wine from the bottle on the table, and insisted on my drinking it. "You shall see him," said the Major. "I promise you that. The doctor has forbidden him to leave the house until you have seen him. Only wait a little! My poor, dear lady, wait, if it is only for a few minutes, until you are stronger." I had no choice but to obey him.
My husband's presence in the Major's house was perfectly explained. But his extraordinary conduct in leaving the room at the very time when I was just recovering my senses still remained to be accounted for. Major Fitz-David looked seriously embarrassed when I put the question to him. "I hardly know how to explain it to you," he said. "Eustace has surprised and disappointed me."
I saw Voltaire in red morocco, Shakespeare in blue, Walter Scott in green, the "History of England" in brown, the "Annual Register" in yellow calf. There I paused, wearied and discouraged already by the long rows of volumes. And what am I to look for, even if I do examine them all? Major Fitz-David had spoken of a terrible misfortune which had darkened my husband's past life.
Major Fitz-David held up his hand warningly, and cast a sly look at me out of his bright little gray eyes. "Stop!" he said. "My sweet friend, stop there! I know where your questions will lead me, and what the result will be if I once begin to answer them. When your husband was here to-day he took occasion to remind me that I was as weak as water in the hands of a pretty woman. He is quite right.
Can you tell me that?" He considered a little. "There is one man who must know where she is or who could find it out for you," he said. "Who is he? What is his name?" "He is a friend of Eustace's. Major Fitz-David." "I know him! I am going to dine with him next week. He has asked you to dine too." Miserrimus Dexter laughed contemptuously.
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