I went to my room that night a different creature.  That place had been a kind of sanctuary to me.  By its vine-draped window I had loved to sit and think of him, to read the books he liked, and fashion my mind to what he could approve.  But the spot which I had left, a hopeful and loving girl, I returned to, a forsaken and revengeful woman.  My whole nature was wrought up to one purpose,—­to repay him, to the last iota, all he had made me suffer, all the humiliation, the despair.  It was strange how this purpose upbore and consoled me; for I needed consolation.  I hated him, yet I loved him fiercely, too; I despised him, yet I knew no other man would ever touch my heart.  He had been, he always must be, everything to me,—­the one object to which all my thoughts tended, to which my every action was referred.

I took from a drawer his letters and his few love-gifts.  The paper I tore to fragments and threw into the empty fireplace.  I lighted the heap, and tossed the gifts, one after another, into the flame.  Last of all, I drew his portrait from my bosom.  I gazed at it an instant, pressed it to my lips.  No,—­I would not destroy this,—­I would keep it to remind me.

I remember thinking, as I watched the flickering flame, that this was something like a witch’s incantation.  I smiled at the idea.

The next morning there was only a heap of light ashes left in the grate.  I pursued my purpose determinedly and with unflagging zeal.  I did not know exactly how it would be realized, but I felt sure I should achieve it.  My first care was to cultivate to the utmost every faculty I possessed.  My education had been hitherto of rather a substantial order; I had few accomplishments.  To these I turned my care.  “What has a woman,” I thought, “to do with solid learning?  It never tells in society.”  I had observed the rapt attention with which William listened to music.  Hitherto I had been only a passable performer, such as any girl of sixteen might be.  But under the influence of this new motive I studied diligently; the best masters were supplied me; and soon my progress both astonished and delighted myself and all who heard me.

I have before said that a change for the better had taken place in my person; this I strove by every means in my power to increase.  I rode, I walked, I plied the oars vigorously upon our little lake.  My health grew firm, my cheeks more blooming, my form fuller and majestic.  I took the greatest pains with my toilet.  It was wonderful to see, day by day, as I looked into the mirror, the alteration that care and taste could effect in personal appearance.  Could this erect, stately figure, with its air of grace and distinction, be one with the thin, stooping form, clad in careless, loose-fitting garb, which I so well remembered as myself?  Could that brilliant face, with its bands of shining hair, that smile of easy self-confidence, belong to me?  What, had become of the pale, spiritless girl?  My uncle sometimes asked the question, and, looking at me with a fond, admiring glance, would say,—­“You were made for an empress, Juanita!” I knew then that I was beautiful, and rejoiced in the knowledge; but no tinge of vanity mingled with the joy.  I cultivated my beauty, as I did my talents, for a purpose of which I never lost sight.