But she saw Thurston walking his horse up and down the forest-path, and impatiently waiting for her.

* * * * *

Dr. Grimshaw was very much dissatisfied; and no sooner had Marian left the home, and left him alone with Mrs. Waugh and Jacquelina, than he turned to the elder lady, and said, with some asperity: 

“I think it would have been well, Mrs. Waugh, if you had consulted the other members of your party before making so important an addition to it.”

“And I think it would be better, Dr. Grimshaw, if you would occupy your valuable time and attention with affairs that fall more immediately within your own province,” said Henrietta, loftily, as she would sometimes speak.

Dr. Grimshaw deigned no reply.  He closed his mouth with a spasmodic snap, and sat ruminating—­the very picture of wretchedness.  He was, indeed, to be pitied!  For no patience, no kindness, no wooing could win from his bride one smile.  That very afternoon, under the combined goadings of exasperated self-love and poignant jealousy, Dr. Grimshaw sought an interview with Mrs. L’Oiseau, and urged her, in the most strenuous manner, to exert her maternal influence in bringing her daughter to terms.

And Mrs. L’Oiseau sent for Jacquelina, to have a talk with her.  But not all her arguments, entreaties, or even tears, could prevail with the obstinate bride to relax one single degree of her unforgiving antagonism to her detested bridegroom.

“Mother,” she said, with sorrowful bitterness, “you are well now; indeed, you never were so ill as I was led to believe; and you are independent.  I parted with my only hope of happiness in life to render you so; I sold myself in a formal marriage to be the legal medium of endowing Dr. Grimshaw with a certain landed estate.  Even into that measure I was deceived—­no more of that! it crazes me!  The conditions are all fulfilled; he will have the property, and you are independent.  And now he has no further claim upon me, and no power over me!”

“He has, Jacquelina; and it is only Dr. Grimshaw’s forbearance that permits you to indulge in this wicked whim.”

“His forbearance!  Oh! hasn’t he been forbearing, though!” she exclaimed, with a mocking laugh.

“Yes; he has, little as you are disposed to acknowledge it.  You do not seem to know that he can compel your submission!”

“Can he!” she hissed, drawing her breath sharply through her clenched teeth, and clutching her fingers convulsively, while a white ring gleamed around the blue iris of her dilated eyes.  “Let him try! let him drive me to desperation, and then learn how spirits dare to escape!  But he will not do that.  Mimmy! he reads me better than you do; he knows that he must not urge me beyond my powers of endurance.  No, mother!  Let him take my uncle into his counsels again, if he pleases; let them combine all their ingenuity, and wickedness, and power,