“I thought to be in New York by this time, and looking homeward; but I am detained by another piece of good-fortune, if any thing can be called good-fortune that keeps me a day from you.  Oh, my dear Grace, I am dying to see your handwriting at new York, and then fly home and see your dear self, and never, never quit you more.  I have been wonderfully lucky; I have made my fortune, our fortune.  But it hardly pays me for losing the sight of you so many months.  But what I was going to tell you is, that my method of forging large axes by machinery is wonderfully praised, and a great firm takes it up on fair terms.  This firm has branches in various parts of the world, and, once my machines are in full work, Hillsborough will never forge another ax.  Man can not suppress machinery; the world is too big.  That bullet sent through Mr. Tyler’s hat loses Great Britain a whole trade.  I profit in money by their short-sighted violence, but I must pay the price; for this will keep me another week at Chicago, perhaps ten days.  Then home I come, with lots of money to please your father, and an ocean of love for you, who don’t care about the filthy dross; no more do I, except as the paving-stones on the road to you and heaven, my adored one.”

The effect of this letter was prodigious.  So fearful had been the suspense, so great was now the relief, that Coventry felt exultant, buoyant.  He went down to the sea-side, and walked, light as air, by the sands, and his brain teemed with delightful schemes.  Little would come to Hillsborough soon after the marriage, but what of that?

On the wedding-night he would be at Dover.  Next day at Paris, on his way to Rome, Athens, Constantinople.  The inevitable exposure should never reach his wife until he had so won her, soul and body, that she should adore him for the crimes he had committed to win her—­he knew the female heart to be capable of that.

He came back from his walk another man, color in his cheek and fire in his eye.

He walked into the drawing-room, and found Mr. Raby, with his hat on, just leaving Grace, whose eyes showed signs of weeping.

“I wish you joy, sir,” said Raby.  “I am to have the honor of being at your wedding.”

“It will add to my happiness, if possible,” said Coventry.

To be as polite in deed as in word, he saw Mr. Raby into the fly.

“Curious creatures, these girls,” said Raby, shrugging his shoulders.

“She was engaged to me long ago,” said Coventry, parrying the blow.

“Ah!  I forgot that.  Still—­well, well; I wish you joy.”

He went off, and Coventry returned to Grace.  She was seated by the window looking at the sea.

“What did godpapa say to you?”

“Oh, he congratulated me.  He reminded me you and I were first engaged at his house.”

“Did he tell you it is to be at Woodbine Villa?”

“What?”

“The wedding.”  And Grace blushed to the forehead at having to mention it.