Mr. Jeffrey, who had subdued whatever indignation he may have felt
at this unmistakable proof of the coroner's intention to have his
own way with him whatever the cost to his sensitiveness or pride,
obeyed the latter's command in firmer tones than I expected.
The lines he was thus called upon to read may bear repetition:
"I find that I do not love you as I thought. I can not live knowing
this to be so. Pray God you may forgive me!
VERONICA."
As the last word fell with a little tremble from Mr. Jeffrey's lips,
the coroner repeated:
"You still think these words were addressed to you by your wife;
that in short they contain an explanation of her death?"
"I do"
There was sharpness in the tone. Mr. Jeffrey was feeling the prick.
There was agitation in it, too; an agitation he was trying hard to
keep down.
"You have reason, then," persisted the coroner, "for accepting this
peculiar explanation of your wife's death; a death which, in the
judgment of most people, was of a nature to call for the strongest
provocation possible."
"My wife was not herself. My wife was in an over strained and
suffering condition. For one so nervously overwrought many
allowances must be made. She may have been conscious of not
responding fully to my affection.
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