“You look extremely handsome when you are scornful, Arenta; but it is not worthwhile wasting your charms on me.  I am doing what I can to help Jacobus to keep his tongue clean, and I will not have Rem lead him into temptation.  As for Rem, he is guilty of a great wrong; and he must now do what his father told him to do—­work day and night, as men work, when a bridge is broken down.  The ruin must be got out of the way, and the bridge rebuilt, then it will be possible to open some pleasant and profitable traffic with human beings again—­not to speak of heaven.”

“You are right—­not to speak of heaven, I think heaven would be more charitable.  Rem will not trouble Captain Jacobus.  For my part I think a man that cannot bear temptation is very poorly reformed.  If my uncle could see Rem, and yet keep his big and little oaths under bonds, I should believe in his clean tongue.”

“Arenta, you are tormenting yourself with anger and ill-will, and above all with jealousy.  In this way you are going to miss a deal of pleasure.  I advise you not to quarrel with Cornelia.  She will be a great resource.  I myself am looking forward to the delightful change Jacobus may have at Hyde Manor.  It will make a new life for him, and also for me.  This afternoon something is vexing you.  I shall take no offence.  You will regret your bad temper to-morrow.”

To-morrow Arenta did regret; but people do not always say they are sorry, when they feel so.  She sat in the shadow of her window curtains and watched the almost constant stream of visitors, and messengers, and tradespeople at Doctor Moran’s house; and she longed to have her hands among the lovely things, and to give her opinion about the delightful events sure to make the next few weeks full of interest and pleasure.  And after she had received a letter from Rem, she resolved to humble herself that she might be exalted.

“Rem is already fortunate, and I can’t help him by fighting his battle.  Forgetfulness, is the word.  For this wrong can have no victory, and to be forgotten, is the only hope for it.  Beside, Cornelia had her full share in my happiness, and I will not let myself be defrauded of my share in her happiness—­not for a few words—­no! certainly not.”

This reflection a few times reiterated resulted in the following note—­

My dear Cornelia:  I want to say so much, that I cannot say anything but—­forgive me.  I am shaken to pieces by my dreadful sufferings, and sometimes, I do not know what I say, even to those I love.  Blame my sad fortune for my bad words, and tell me you long to forgive me, as I long to be forgiven.  Your Arenta.

“That will be sufficient,” she reflected; “and after all, Cornelia is a sweet girl.  I am her first and dearest friend, and I am determined to keep my place.  It has made me very angry to see those Van Dien girls, and those Sherman girls, running in and out of the Moran house as if they owned Cornelia.  Well then, if I have had to eat humble pie, I have had my say, and that takes the bitter taste out of my mouth—­and a sensible woman must look to her future.  I dare warrant, Cornelia is now answering my letter.  I dare warrant, she will forgive me very sweetly.”