May the devil take the fellow!  I shall need some heavenly power to keep my hands off him.  This is a grief beyond all griefs—­I believed she loved me so entirely.  Fool! a thousand times fool!  Have I not found all women of a piece?  Did not Molly Trefuses throw me over for a duke? and Sarah Talbot tell me my love was only calf-love and had to be weaned? and Eliza Capel regret that I was too young to guide a wife, and so marry a cabinet minister old enough for her grandfather?  Women are all just so, not a cherry stone to choose between them—­I will never wonder again at anything a woman does—­Was ever a lover so betrayed?  Oh Cornelia! your ink should have frozen in your pen, ere you wrote such words to me.”

Thus his passionate grief and anger tortured him until midnight.  Then he had a high fever and a distracting headache, and, the physical torment being the most insistent and distressing, he gave way before it.  With such agonizing tears as spring from despairing wounded love he threw himself upon his bed, and his craving, suffering heart at length found rest in sleep from the terrible egotism of its sorrow.

Never for one instant did he imagine this sorrow to be a mistaken and quite unnecessary one.  Indeed it was almost impossible for him to conceive of a series of events, which though apparently accidental, had a fatality more pronounced than anything that could have been arranged.  Not taking Rem Van Ariens seriously into his consideration, and not fearing his rival in any way, it was beyond all his suspicions that Rem should write to Cornelia in the same hour, and for the same purpose as himself.  He had no knowledge of Rem’s intention to go to Boston, and could not therefore imagine Cornelia “grieving” at any journey but his own impending one to England.  And that she should be forced by circumstances to answer both Rem and himself in the same hour, and in the very stress and hurry of her great love and anxiety should misdirect the letters, were likelihoods outside his consciousness.

It was far otherwise with Rem.  The moment he opened the letter brought him by Cornelia’s messenger, in that very moment he knew that it was not his letter.  He understood at once the position, and perceived that he held in his hand an instrument, which if affairs went as he desired, was likely to make trouble he could perchance turn to his own advantage.  The fate that had favoured him so far would doubtless go further—­if he let it alone.  These thoughts sprang at once into his reflection, but were barely entertained before nobler ones displaced them.  As a Christian gentleman he knew what he ought to do without cavil and without delay, and he rose to follow the benignant justice of his conscience.  Into this obedience, however, there entered an hesitation of a second of time, and that infinitesimal period was sufficient for his evil genius.