Probably few men of his imaginative temperament and hard antecedents could have borne the change without some little unsettling of mental balance; we are framed to endure any amount of ill, but have to take our chance in the improbable event of vast joy befalling us.
Poor Redwing conceived a suspicion that his wife desired to murder him; one night as she was following him into their bedroom, he suddenly turned round, caught hold of her with violence, and flung her to the ground, demanding the knife which he protested he had seen gleam in her hand.

It was no longer safe to live with him; he was put under restraint, and never again knew freedom.

In less than a year he died, a moping maniac.
Mrs.Redwing was an invalid thenceforth; probably it was only the existence of her child that saved her life.

An affection of the heart in course of time declared itself, but, though her existence was believed to hang on a thread, she lived on and on, lived to see Beatrice grow to womanhood.

She kept a small house in London, but spent the greater part of the year at home or foreign health-resorts.