Accustomed to make others bright and happy by her bare presence, this beautiful and unselfish young creature was shocked at the misery she was sowing around her, and all for something her judgment told her would prove a chimera. And again she asked herself was she brave enough, and selfish enough, to defy her father and her godfather, whose mind was written so clearly in that terrible inscription.
She sat there, cold at heart, a long time, and at last came to a desperate resolution.
"Give me my writing-desk."
Jael brought it her.
"Sit down there where I can see you; and don't hide your tears from me. I want to see you cry. I want every help. I wasn't born to make everybody miserable: I am going to end it."
She wrote a little, and then she stopped, and sighed; then she wrote a little more, and stopped, and sighed. Then she burned the letter, and began again; and as she wrote, she sighed; and as she wrote on, she moaned.
And, as she wrote on, the tears began to fall upon the paper.
It was piteous to see the struggle of this lovely girl, and the patient fortitude that could sigh, and moan, and weep, yet go on doing the brave act that made her sigh, and moan, and weep.
At last, the letter was finished, and directed; and Grace put it in her bosom, and dismissed Jael abruptly, almost harshly, and sat down, cold and miserable, before the fire.
At dinner-time her eyes were so red she would not appear. She pleaded headache, and dined in her own room.
Meantime Mr. Coventry passed a bitter time.
He had heard young Little say, "Wait two years." And now Grace was evading and procrastinating, and so, literally, obeying that young man, with all manner of false pretenses. This was a revelation, and cast back a bright light on many suspicious things he had observed in the church.
He was tortured with jealous agony. And it added to his misery that he could not see his way to any hostilities.
Little could easily be driven out of the country, for that matter; he had himself told them both how certainly that would befall him if he was betrayed to the Unions. But honor and gratitude forbade this line; and Coventry, in the midst of his jealous agony, resisted that temptation fiercely, would not allow his mind even to dwell upon it for a moment.
He recalled all his experiences; and, after a sore struggle of passion, he came to some such conclusion as this: that Grace would have married him if she had not unexpectedly fallen in with Little, under very peculiar and moving circumstances; that an accident of this kind would never occur again, and he must patiently wear out the effect of it.
He had observed that in playing an uphill game of love the lover must constantly ask himself, "What should I do, were I to listen to my heart?" and having ascertained that, must do the opposite. So now Mr. Coventry grimly resolved to control his wishes for a time, to hide his jealousy, to hide his knowledge of her deceit, to hide his own anger. He would wait some months before he again asked her to marry him, unless he saw a change in her; and, meantime, he would lay himself out to please her, trusting to this, that there could be no intercourse by letter between her and a workman, and they were not likely to meet again in a hurry.
It required considerable fortitude to curb his love and jealousy, and settle on this course. But he did conquer after a hard struggle, and prepared to meet Miss Carden at dinner with artificial gayety.
But she did not appear; and that set Mr. Coventry thinking again.
Why should she have a headache? He had a rooted disbelief in women's headaches. His own head had far more reason to ache, and his heart too. He puzzled himself all dinner-time about this headache, and was very bad company.
Soon after dinner he took a leaf out of her book, pretended headache, and said he should like to take a turn by himself in the air.
What he really wanted to do was to watch Miss Carden's windows, for he had all manner of ugly suspicions.
There seemed to be a strong light in the room. He could see no more.
He walked moodily up and down, very little satisfied with himself, and at last he got ashamed of his own thoughts.
"Oh, no!" he said, "she is in her room, sure enough."
He turned his back, and strolled out into the road.
Presently he heard the rustle of a woman's dress. He stepped into the shade of the firs directly, and his heart began to beat hard.
But it was only Jael Dence. She came out within a few yards of him.
She had something white in her hand, which, however, she instinctively conveyed into her bosom the moment she found herself in the moonlight. Coventry saw her do it though.
She turned to the left, and walked swiftly up the road.
Now Coventry knew nothing about this girl, except that she belonged to a class with whom money generally goes a long way. And he now asked himself whether it might not be well worth his while to enlist her sympathies on his side.
While he was coming to this conclusion, Jael, who was gliding along at a great pace, reached a turn in the road, and Mr. Coventry had to run after her to catch her.
When he got to the turn in the road, she was just going round another turn, having quickened her pace.
Coventry followed more leisurely. She might be going to meet her sweetheart; and, if so, he had better talk to her on her return.
He walked on till he saw at some distance a building, with light shining though it in a peculiar way; and now the path became very rugged and difficult. He came to a standstill, and eyed the place where his rival was working at that moment. He eyed it with a strange mixture of feelings. It had saved his life and hers, after all. He fell into another mood, and began to laugh at himself for allowing himself to be disturbed by such a rival.
But what is this? Jael Dence comes in sight again: she is making for the old church.
