For
some reasons, unexplained even to himself, Archer never took his wife
there. Perhaps the quiet room too forcibly reminded him of the woman he
had loved and lost.
Alexandrine's ambition was satisfied. At last, she was the wife of the
man whose love and admiration she had coveted since her first
acquaintance with him. From her heart she believed him guilty of the
murder of Paul Linmere; but in spite of it, she had married him. She
loved him intensely enough to pardon even that heinous crime.
Her husband's admiration Alexandrine possessed, but she soon came to
realize that he had told her the truth, when he said his heart was buried
too deep to know a resurrection. He was kind to her--very gentle, and
kind, and generous--for it was not in Archer Trevlyn's nature to be
unkind to anything--and he felt that he owed her all respect and
attention, in return for her love. Her every wish was gratified. Horses,
carriages, servants, dress, jewelry--everything that money could
purchase--waited her command, but not what she craved more than all--_his
love_.
He never kissed her, never took her hands in his, or held her to him when
he said good-by, as he frequently did, for several days' absence on
matters of business. He never called her Alexandrine--it was always Mrs.
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