Marian, sitting in her pew, saw nothing in his face or manner to indicate that inward storm.  She only saw the sullen, freezing exterior.  Even in his softened moods of penitence, Thurston dared not seek her society.

For Marian had begun to recover from the first abject prostration of her sorrow, and her fair, resolute brow and sad, firm lips mutely assured him that she never would consent to be his own until their marriage could be proclaimed.

And he durst not trust himself in her tempting presence, lest there should be a renewal of those humiliating scenes he had endured.

Thus passing a greater portion of the summer; during which Thurston gradually dropped off from the church, and from all other haunts where he was likely to encounter Marian, and as gradually began to frequent the Catholic chapel, and to visit Luckenough, and to throw himself as much as possible into the distracting company of the pretty elf Jacquelina.  But this—­while it threw Dr. Grimshaw almost into frenzy, did not help Thurston to forget the good and beautiful Marian.  Indeed, by contrast, it seemed to make her more excellent and lovely.

And thus, while Jacquelina fancied she had a new admirer, Dr. Grimshaw feared that he had a new rival, and the holy fathers hoped they had a new convert—­Thurston laughed at the vanity of the elf, the jealousy of the Ogre, and the gullibility of the priests—­and sought only escape from the haunting memory of Marian, and found it not.  And finally, bored and ennuied beyond endurance, he cast about for a plan by which to hasten his union with Marian.  Perhaps it was only that neighborhood she was afraid of, he thought—­perhaps in some other place she would be less scrupulous.  Satan had no sooner whispered this thought to Thurston’s ear than he conceived the design of spending the ensuing autumn in Paris—­and of making Marian his companion while there.  Fired with this new idea and this new hope, he sat down and wrote her a few lines—­without address or signature—­as follows: 

“Dearest, forgive all the past.  I was mad and blind.  I have a plan to secure at once our happiness.  Meet me in the Mossy dell this evening, and let me explain it at your feet.”

Having written this note, Thurston scarcely knew how to get it at once into Marian’s hands.  To put it into the village post-office was to expose it to the prying eyes of Miss Nancy Skamp.  To send it to Old Fields, by a messenger, was still more hazardous.  To slip it into Marian’s own hand, he would have to wait the whole week until Sunday—­and then might not be able to do so unobserved.

Finally, after much thought, he determined, without admitting the elf into his full confidence, to entrust the delivery of the note to Jacquelina.

He therefore copied it into the smallest space, rolled it up tightly, and took it with him when he went to Luckenough.

He spent the whole afternoon at the mansion house, without having an opportunity to slip it into the hands of Jacquelina.