was minded to wear the willow for ever?  ’If my uncle and aunt choose to dispose of me, I cannot help it,’ she had said.  Then he had left her, and she had been sure that for him that early game of love was a game altogether played out.  Now, as he walked along the dark paths of the town garden, something of the truth came upon him.  He made no excuse for Marie Bromar.  She had given him a vow, and should have been true to her vow, so he said to himself a dozen times.  He had never been false.  He had shown no sign of falseness.  True of heart, he had remained away from her only till he might come and claim her, and bring her to a house that he could call his own.  This also he told himself a dozen times.  But, nevertheless, there was a very agony of remorse, a weight of repentance, in that he had not striven to make sure of his prize when he had been at Granpere before the marriage was settled.  Had she loved him as she ought to have loved him, had she loved him as he loved her, there should have been no question possible to her of marriage with another man.  But still he repented, in that he had lost that which he desired, and might perhaps have then obtained it for himself.

But the strong feeling of his breast, the strongest next to his love, was a desire to be revenged.  He cared little now for his father, little for that personal dignity which he had intended to return by his silence, little for pecuniary advantages and prudential motives, in comparison with his strong desire to punish Marie for her perfidy.  He would go over to Granpere, and fall among them like a thunderbolt.  Like a thunderbolt, at any rate, he would fall upon the head of Marie Bromar.  The very words of her love-promises were still firm in his memory, and he would see if she also could be made to remember them.

‘I shall go over to Granpere the day after to-morrow,’ he said to Madame Faragon, as he caught her just before she retired for the night.

‘To Granpere the day after to-morrow?  And why?’

’Well, I don’t know that I can say exactly why.  I shall not be at the marriage, but I should like to see them first.  I shall go the day after to-morrow.’

And he went to Granpere on the day he fixed.

CHAPTER XI.

‘Probably one night only, but I won’t make any promise,’ George had said to Madame Faragon when she asked him how long he intended to stay at Granpere.  As he took one of the horses belonging to the inn and drove himself, it seemed to be certain that he would not stay long.  He started all alone, early in the morning, and reached Granpere about twelve o’clock.  His mind was full of painful thoughts as he went, and as the little animal ran quickly down the mountain road into the valley in which Granpere lies, he almost wished that his feet were not so fleet.  What was he to say when he got to Granpere, and to whom was he to say it?