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〃The fault began with them。 He supplanted meshe jilted me。 I hate himI love her。 I can't give her up now； I have gone too far。 What is intercepting a letter？ I have been too near murder to stop at that。〃
〃But her pale face！ her pale face！〃
〃Once married； supplant him as he has supplanted you。 Away to Italy with her。 Fresh scenesconstant lovethe joys of wedlock！ What will this Henry Little be to her then？a dream。〃
〃Eternal punishment； if it is not a fable； who has ever earned it better than I am earning it if I go on？〃
〃It IS a fable； it must be。 Philosophers always said so； and now even divines have given it up。〃
〃Her pale face！ her pale face！ Never mind HIM； look at her。 What sort of love is this that shows no pity？ Oh； my poor girl； don't look so sadso pale！ What shall I do？ Would to God I had never been born； to torture myself and her！〃
His good angel fought hard for him that day； fought and struggled and hoped； until the miserable man； torn this way and that； ended the struggle with a blasphemous yell by tearing the letter to atoms。
That fatal act turned the scale。
The next moment he wished he had not done it。
But it was too late。 He could not go to her with the fragments。 She would see he had intercepted it purposely。
Well； all the better。 It was decided。 He would not look at her face any more。 He could not bear it。
He rushed away from the bower and made for the seaside； but he soon returned another way； gained his own room； and there burnt the fragments of the letter to ashes。
But； though he was impenitent； remorse was not subdued。 He could not look Grace Carden in the face now。 So he sent word he must go back to Hillsborough directly。
He packed his bag and went down…stairs with it。
On the last landing he met Grace Carden。 She started a little。
〃What！ going away？〃
〃Yes； Miss Carden。〃
〃No bad news； I hope？〃 said she； kindly。
The kindly tone coming from her； to whom he had shown no mercy； went through that obdurate heart。
〃Nono；〃 he faltered； 〃but the sight of your unhappiness Let me go。 I am a miserable man！〃
And with this he actually burst out crying and ran past her。
Grace told her father； and asked him to find out what was the matter with Mr。 Coventry。
Mr。 Carden followed Coventry to the station； and Coventry； who had now recovered his self…possession and his cunning； told him that for some time Miss Carden had worn a cheerful air； which had given him hopes； but this morning； watching her from a bower in the garden； he had seen such misery in her face that it had quite upset him； and he was going away to try and recover that composure； without which he felt he would be no use to her in any way。
This tale Carden brought back to his daughter； and she was touched by it。 〃Poor Mr。 Coventry！〃 said she。 〃Why does he waste so much love on me？〃
Her father； finding her thus softened； pleaded hard for his friend； and reminded Grace that she had not used him well。 She admitted that at once； and went so far as to say that she felt bound never to marry any one but Mr。 Coventry； unless time should cure him； as she hoped it would； of his unfortunate attachment。
From this concession Mr。 Carden urged her daily to another； viz。； that Mr。 Coventry might be permitted to try and win her affection。
Her answer was； 〃He had much better content himself with what I can and do give himmy esteem and gratitude and sincere pity。〃
Mr。 Carden； however； persisted； and the deep affection he had shown his daughter gave him great power。 It was two against one； and the two prevailed。
Mr。 Coventry began to spend his whole time at Eastbank Cottage。
He followed Grace about with a devotion to which no female heart could be entirely insensible； and； at last； she got used to him； and rather liked to have him about her。 He broke her solitude as a dog does； and he fetched and carried for her； and talked when she was inclined to listen； and was silent when he saw his voice jarred upon her bereaved heart。
Without her father； matters might have gone on so for years； but Mr。 Carden had now so many motives for marrying his daughter to Coventry； that he used all his judgment and all his influence。 He worked on his daughter's pride； her affection； her sense of honor； and her sense of duty。
She struggled； she sighed； she wept； but； by little and little； she submitted。 And； since three months more passed with no striking event； I will deviate from my usual custom and speak a little of what passed in her mind。
First of all； then； she was so completely deceived by appearances； that she believed the exact opposite of the truth in each particular。 To her not only did black seem white； but white black。 Her dead lover had given her but half his heart。 Her living lover was the soul of honor and true devotion。 It was her duty； though not her pleasure； to try and love him； to marry him would be a good and self…denying action。
And what could she lose by it？ Her own chance of happiness was gone。 All she could hope for hereafter was the gentle satisfaction that arises from making others happy。 She had but a choice of evils： never to marry at all； or to marry Frederick Coventry。
Thus far she was conscious of her own feelings； and could； perhaps； have put them into words； but here she drifted out of her depth。
Nature implants in women a genuine love of offspring that governs them unconsciously。 It governs the unconscious child； it governs the half…conscious mother who comes home from the toyshop with a waxen child for her girl； and a drum for her boy。
Men desire offspring…when they desire it at allfrom vanity alone。 Women desire it from pure love of it。
This instinct had probably its share in withholding Grace from making up her mind never to marry； and so operated negatively； though not positively； in Coventry's favor。
And so； by degrees and in course of time； after saying 〃no〃 a dozen times； she said 〃yes〃 once in a moment of utter lassitude； and afterward she cried and wished to withdraw her consent； but they were two to one； and had right on their side； she thought。
They got her to say she would marry him some day or other。
Coventry intercepted several letters； but he took care not to read them with Grace's sad face in sight。 He would not give conscience such a power to torment him。 The earlier letters gave him a cruel satisfaction。 They were written each from a different city in the United States； and all tended to show that the writer had a year or two to travel yet； before he could hope to return home in triumph and marry his Grace。
In all these letters she was requested to send her answers to New York （and； now I think of it； there was a postscript to that effect in the very letter I have given in extenso）。
But at last came a letter that disturbed this delightful dream。 It was written from the western extremity of the States； but the writer was in high spirits； he had sold his patents in two great cities； and had established them in two more on a royalty； he had also met with an unexpected piece of good fortune： his railway clip had been appreciated； a man of large capital and enterprise had taken it up with spiri