At any rate, Edward Cossey was quite sensitive enough to acutely feel parting with Mrs. Quest, and perhaps he felt the manner of it even more than the fact of the separation.  Then came another consideration.  He was, it is true, free from his entanglement, in itself an enormous relief, but the freedom was of a conditional nature.  Belle had threatened trouble in the most decisive tones should he attempt to carry out his secret purpose of marrying Ida, which she had not been slow to divine.  For some occult reason, at least to him it seemed occult, the idea of this alliance was peculiarly distasteful to her, though no doubt the true explanation was that she believed, and not inaccurately, that in order to bring it about he was bent upon deserting her.  The question with him was, would she or would she not attempt to put her threat into execution?  It certainly seemed to him difficult to imagine what steps she could take to that end, seeing that any such steps would necessarily involve her own exposure, and that too when there was nothing to gain, and when all hopes of thereby securing him for herself had passed away.  Nor did he seriously believe that she would attempt anything of the sort.  It is one thing for a woman to make such threats in the acute agony of her jealousy, and quite another for her to carry them out in cold blood.  Looking at the matter from a man’s point of view, it seemed to him extremely improbable that when the occasion came she would attempt such a move.  He forgot how much more violently, when once it has taken possession of his being, the storm of passion sweeps through such a woman’s heart than through a man’s, and how utterly reckless to all consequence the former sometimes becomes.  For there are women with whom all things melt in that white heat of anguished jealousy—­honour, duty, conscience, and the restraint of religion—­and of these Belle Quest was one.

But of this he was not aware, and though he recognised a risk, he saw in it no sufficient reason to make him stay his hand.  For day by day the strong desire to make Ida his wife had grown upon him, till at last it possessed him body and soul.  For a long while the intent had been smouldering in his breast, and the tale that he now heard, to the effect that Colonel Quaritch had been beforehand with him, had blown it into a flame.  Ida was ever present in his thoughts; even at night he could not be rid of her, for when he slept her vision, dark-eyed and beautiful, came stealing down his dreams.  She was his heaven, and if by any ladder known to man he might climb thereto, thither he would climb.  And so he set his teeth and vowed that, Mrs. Quest or no Mrs. Quest, he would stake his fortune upon the hazard of the die, aye, and win, even if he loaded the dice.

While he was still thinking thus, standing at his window and gazing out on to the market place of the quiet little town, he suddenly saw Ida herself driving in her pony-carriage.  It was a wet and windy day, the rain was on her cheek, and the wind tossed a little lock of her brown hair.  The cob was pulling, and her proud face was set, as she concentrated her energies upon holding him.  Never to Edward Cossey had she looked more beautiful.  His heart beat fast at the sight of her, and whatever doubts might have lingered in his mind, vanished.  Yes, he would claim her promise and marry her.