"I am too thankful that you did not happen to
come to Saratoga when _I_ was prostrated with misery. I have gone
through everything,--every stage of wretchedness that the human heart is
capable of,--but now, thank Heaven, I am filled with only a just
indignation. Read that!"
She produced a letter from her reticule and flipped it at him. Even
before he opened it he recognized the familiar handwriting, the profuse
capitals, of Mrs. Reynolds. Fortunately, he made no comment, for the
contents were utterly different from his quick anticipation. It
contained a minute and circumstantial account of his visits during the
past year to Mrs. Croix, with many other details, which, by spying and
bribing, no doubt, she had managed to gather. Failing one revenge, the
woman had resorted to another, and fearing that it might be lost among
the abundant and surfeiting lies of the public press, she had aimed at
what he held most dear. The letter was so minute and circumstantial that
it would have convinced almost any woman.
There was but one thing for Hamilton to do, and he lied with his
unsurpassable eloquence.
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