Your husband, aunt?

　　'You stripped me  of the greater  part of all  I ever had,'  said my aunt.  'You closed  my heart  against the  whole world,  years and  years.  You  treated  me falsely,  ungratefully, and  cruelly.  Go,  and repent  of it.   Don't add   new injuries to the long, long list of injuries you have done me!'

　　'Aye!' he returned.  'It's all very fine -  Well! I must do the best I can,  for the present, I suppose.'

　　In spite of himself, he appeared abashed by my aunt's indignant tears, and  came slouching out of the garden.  Taking two or three quick steps, as if I had  just come up, I met him at the gate, and went in as he came out.  We eyed one another narrowly in passing, and with no favour.

　　'Aunt,' said I, hurriedly.  'This man  alarming you again! Let me speak  to him. Who is he?'

　　'Child,' returned my aunt,  taking my arm, 'come  in, and don't speak  to me for ten minutes.'

　　We sat down in her little parlour.   My aunt retired behind the round green  fan of former days, which was screwed on the back of a chair, and occasionally wiped her eyes, for about a  quarter of an hour.  Then  she came out, and took  a seat beside me.

　　'Trot,' said my aunt, calmly, 'it's my husband.'

　　'Your husband, aunt?  I thought he had been dead!'

　　'Dead to me,' returned my aunt, 'but living.'

　　I sat in silent amazement.

　　'Betsey Trotwood don't look  a likely subject for  the tender passion,' said  my aunt, composedly, 'but the  time was, Trot, when  she believed in that  man most entirely.  When she  loved him, Trot,  right well.  When  there was no  proof of attachment and affection that  she would not have  given him.  He repaid  her by breaking her fortune, and nearly breaking  her heart.  So she put all  that sort of sentiment, once and for ever, in a grave, and filled it up, and flattened  it down.'