He
hesitated, and listened anxiously in the direction of his wife's
room, before reading the letter. Was its arrival ominous of good
or evil? That was the thought in his heart as he drew the lamp
near to him, and looked at the first lines.
"Am I wrong in writing to you?" (the letter began abruptly). "If
I am, you have but to throw this little leaf of paper into the
fire, and to think no more of it after it is burned up and gone.
I can never reproach you for treating my letter in that way; for
we are never likely to meet again.
"Why did I go away? Only to save you from the consequences of
marrying a poor girl who was not fit to become your wife. It
almost broke my heart to leave you; for I had nothing to keep up
my courage but the remembrance that I was going away for your
sake. I had to think of that, morning and night--to think of it
always, or I am afraid I should have faltered in my resolution,
and have gone back to Pisa. I longed so much at first to see you
once more, only to tell you that Nanina was not heartless and
ungrateful, and that you might pity her and think kindly of her,
though you might love her no longer.
"Only to tell you that! If I had been a lady I might have told it
to you in a letter; but I had never learned to write, and I could
not prevail on myself to get others to take the pen for me. All I
could do was to learn secretly how to write with my own hand.
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