leave the room.  These fits of illness had something in their nature of the same secrecy which distinguished everything else connected with him:  they produced no external signs of distortion, no unusual paleness in his face—­you could not guess what pain he was suffering, or where he was suffering it.  Latterly, I abstained from ever asking him to join us; for the effect on Margaret of his sudden attacks of illness was, naturally, such as to discompose her seriously for the remainder of the evening.  Whenever I saw him accidentally, at later periods of the year, the influence of the genial summer season appeared to produce no alteration for the better in him.  I remarked that his cold hand, which had chilled me when I took it on the raw winter night of my return from the country, was as cold as ever, on the warm summer days which preceded the close of my engagement at North Villa.

Such was the posture of affairs at home, and at Mr. Sherwin’s, when I went to see Margaret for the last time in my old character, on the last night which yet remained to separate us from each other.

I had been all day preparing for our reception, on the morrow, in a cottage which I had taken for a month, in a retired part of the country, at some distance from London.  One month’s unalloyed happiness with Margaret, away from the world and all worldly considerations, was the Eden upon earth towards which my dearest hope and anticipations had pointed for a whole year past—­and now, now at last, those aspirations were to be realized!  All my arrangements at the cottage were completed in time to allow me to return home, just before our usual late dinner hour.  During the meal, I provided for my month’s absence from London, by informing my father that I proposed visiting one of my country friends.  He heard me as coldly and indifferently as usual; and, as I anticipated, did not even ask to what friend’s house I was going.  After dinner, I privately informed Clara that on the morrow, before starting, I would, in accordance with my promise, make her the depositary of my long-treasured secret—­which, as yet, was not to be divulged to any one besides.  This done, I hurried away, between nine and ten o’clock, for a last half-hour’s visit to North Villa; hardly able to realise my own situation, or to comprehend the fulness and exaltation of my own joy.

A disappointment was in store for me.  Margaret was not in the house; she had gone out to an evening party, given by a maiden aunt of hers, who was known to be very rich, and was, accordingly, a person to be courted and humoured by the family.

I was angry as well as disappointed at what had taken place.  To send Margaret out, on this evening of all others, showed a want of consideration towards both of us, which revolted me.  Mr. and Mrs. Sherwin were in the room when I entered; and to him I spoke my opinion on the subject, in no very conciliatory terms.  He was suffering from a bad attack of headache, and a worse attack of ill-temper, and answered as irritably as he dared.