Blanche could not help some murmurs, both inwardly and to Berkeley, at the long separation in store for them; and the lover, although himself a little rueful, heartened her up with bright prophecies for their future.  An immediate marriage for them was out of the question, for since Warner’s death Mrs. Smith clung to her younger daughter with absolute dependence.  The last of September was decided on for sailing, as that would allow General Smith time to enter Percival at school, and to complete other necessary arrangements before the family departure.  The management of Shirley would remain in Berkeley’s hands, and the house would continue closed until the return of the travelers.

To Nesbit Thorne, the summer had appeared interminable, and every golden hour had been shod with lead.  He had passed the season partly in the Adirondacks with his relatives and partly in New York; but he was always oppressed with the same miserable unrest, the same weary longing.  It would appear, at times, impossible for him to hold to his resolution of waiting until after the re-marriage of his ci-devant wife, before again seeking Pocahontas.  He yearned to be with her, to hold her hands, and gaze into her eyes, so intensely at times, that it required the utmost exertion of his will to prevent himself from boarding the first southward-bound train.  He was forced continually to remind himself that if he should yield to the impulse, he would be guilty of egregious folly—­having waited so long, he could surely wait a few weeks longer.  Ethel’s marriage would dissipate every shadow of a tie between them, and with that fact fully established, Pocahontas must hear him.

In deference to Cumberland prejudice, Mrs. Thorne’s marriage had been deferred until September—­to that lady’s great annoyance.  She saw no reason for delay, nor any necessity for humoring the Cumberland old-fogyism, and in delicate ambiguous terms she conveyed this opinion to her lover, and discovered, to her surprise and indignation, that he disagreed with her.  Some concession was due to the feelings of his family, and he did not wish to be hurried; on this ground, he intrenched himself and defied the world to move him.  When Cecil made a point, he held to it with the obstinacy characteristic of mediocrity, and Ethel, not being exactly in a position to dictate, and requiring moreover some portion of the Cumberland countenance, was forced to acquiesce.

Some weeks before the day appointed for her marriage, Ethel removed herself and her belongings to the house of a poor and plastic aunt, who was in the habit of allowing herself to be run into any mold her niece should require.  According to their agreement, Ethel gave her whilom husband due notice of her plans, and Thorne at once removed the child to Brooklyn, and placed him under the care of a sister of his father’s, a gentle elderly widow who had known sorrow.  His house he put in the hands of an agent to rent or sell, furnished, only removing such articles as had belonged to his parents.  The house was hateful to him, and he felt that should the beautiful, new life of which he dreamed ever dawn for him, it must be set amid different surroundings from those which had framed his matrimonial failure.