Mary Fawcett accompanied the Levines to Copenhagen, but returned to St. Christopher by a ship which left Denmark a month later, being one of those women who picture their terrestrial affairs in a state of dissolution while deprived of their vigilance.  She vowed that the North had killed her rheumatism, and turned an absent ear to Rachael’s appeal to tarry until Levine was ready to return to St. Croix.  She remained long enough in Denmark, however, to see her daughter presented at court, and installed with all the magnificence that an ambitious mother could desire.  There was not a misgiving in her mind, for Rachael, if somewhat inanimate, could not be unhappy with an uxorious husband and the world at her feet; and although for some time after her marriage she had behaved like a naughty child caught in a trap, and been a sore trial to her mother and Mr. Levine, since her arrival in Copenhagen she had deported herself most becomingly and indulged in no more tantrums.  Levine had conducted himself admirably during his trying honeymoon.  Upon his arrival in Copenhagen he had littered his wife’s boudoir with valuable gifts, and exhibited the beauty he had won with a pride very gratifying to his mother-in-law.  In six months he was to sail for his estates on St. Croix, and pay an immediate visit to St. Kitts, whence Mistress Fawcett would return with her daughter for a sojourn of several months.  She returned to her silent home the envy of many Island mothers.

Rachael wrote by every ship, and Mary Fawcett pondered over these letters, at first with perplexity, finally with a deep uneasiness.  Her daughter described life in Denmark, the court and society, her new gowns and jewels, her visits to country houses, the celebrities she met.  But her letters were literary and impersonal, nor was there in them a trace of her old energy of mind and vivacity of spirit.  She never mentioned Levine’s name, nor made an intimate allusion to herself.

“Can she no longer love me?” thought Mary Fawcett at last and in terror; “this child that I have loved more than the husband of my youth and all the other children I have borne?  It cannot be that she is unhappy.  She would tell me so in a wild outburst—­indeed she would have run home to me long since.  Levine will never control her.  Heaven knows what would have happened if I had not gone on that wedding-journey.  But she settled down so sweetly, and I made sure she would have loved him by this.  It is the only thing to do if you have to live with one of the pests.  Perhaps that is it—­she has given him all her love and has none left for me.”  And at this she felt so lonely and bitter that she almost accepted Archibald Hamn when he called an hour later.  But in the excitement of his risen hopes his wig fell on the floor, and she took offence at his yellow and sparsely settled scalp.

There were few gleams of humour left in life for Mary Fawcett.  Rachael’s letters ceased abruptly.  Her mother dared not sail for Denmark, lest she pass the Levines on their way to St. Croix.  She managed to exist through two distracted months, then received a note from her daughter, Mrs. Mitchell.