When he was gone, the woman’s worst enemy would have pitied her distress.  She believed more than ever that Clamp had used Lucy to abstract her papers, and that he now would hold his power over her to bring about the hated marriage.  Her firmness gave way; she sank on the sofa and wept like a child.  Would that she might yet retreat!  But no, the way is closed up behind her.  She must go on to her destiny.

CHAPTER XIV.

Mark Davenport was prosperous in all his undertakings.  His position in the school did not give much scope to his ambition, but the salary he received was ample enough to pay his expenses, while the duties were not so onerous as to engross all his time.  All his leisure was given to literary pursuits.  He had many times thought he would relinquish the drudgery of teaching, and support himself by his pen; but he remembered the maxim of Scott,—­that literature was a good staff, but a poor crutch,—­and he stuck to his school.  As he grew into a practised writer, he became connected with the staff of a daily newspaper in the great city, furnishing leading articles when called upon, and he soon acquired a position of influence among his associates.  He had maintained a correspondence with Mildred, and was looking forward to the time when he should make a visit to his native town, hoping then to be so well established in the world that he might be able to bring her back with him as his bride.  Every thought centred in her.  He coveted fame, wealth, position, only for her sake; and stimulated by this thought, he had made exertions that would have broken down a man less vigorous and less resolute.

He received a letter from Innisfield one day, after a long interval,—­so long that he had become uneasy, and imagined every kind of evil as the cause of delay.  He broke the seal; it was not from Mildred, but from his cousin Lizzie.  These were the contents:—­

“My dear Mark,—­I suppose you may have been anxious before this, at not hearing from us; but the truth is, we have not had anything very pleasant to write, and so have put off sending to you.  Father is by no means well or strong.  The lawsuit, which is now likely to go wrong, has troubled him very much.  He has grown thin, he stoops as he walks about, and by night he coughs terribly.  I rarely hear him sing as he used to.  Then Squire Clamp has complained of him before the church, and you know father is over-sensitive about his relations with ’the brethren,’—­even with those who are trying to ruin him.  He is melancholy enough.  I hope he will be better, if he gets through his difficulties; otherwise I am afraid to think of what may happen.