He went to her twice a day--once in the morning and again at night.

He would bend down carelessly and kiss her forehead; and tell her any news he had heard, or anything he fancied would interest her, and after a few minutes go away again.

There was no more lingering by her couch or loving dislike to leaving her--all that was past and gone.
My mother never reproached him--unless her faithful love was a reproach.
One thing I shall always hope and believe; it is this, that she never even dreamed in those days of the extent of the evil.

The worst she thought was that my father encouraged Miss Reinhart in exceeding the duties of her position; that he had allowed her to take a place that did not belong to her, and that he permitted her to act in an intimate manner with him.

She believed also that my father, although he still loved her and wished her well, was tired of her long illness, and consequently tired of her.
That was bad enough; but fortunately that was the worst just then--of deeper evil she did not dream; only we three, who loved her faithfully and well, knew that.
But matters were coming to a crisis.