Then he made a desperate resolve, which will not surprise those who know the human heart.  He would harden himself.  He would see more of Miss Carden than ever; only it should be in quite a new light.  He would look at her, and keep saying to himself all the time, “You are another man’s wife.”

With this determination, he called at “Woodbine Villa.”

Miss Carden was not at home.

“Are you sure she is not at home?”

“Not at home,” replied the man stiffly.

“But you needn’t to keep him at the door,” said a mellow female voice.

“No, miss,” said the man, with a sudden change of manner, for he was a desperate and forlorn admirer of the last speaker.  “Come in, sir.”  And he ushered him in to Jael Dence.  She was in her bonnet, and just going out.  They shook hands, and she told him Miss Carden was out walking.

“Walking with her beau?” said Henry, affecting a jaunty air, but sick within.

“That’s more than I can say,” replied Jael.

“You know nothing about it, of course,” said Henry, roughly.

Jael looked surprised at the uncalled-for tone, and turned a mild glance of inquiry and reproach upon him.

The young man was ashamed of himself, and at that moment, too, he remembered he had already been rather ungrateful to her.  So, to make amends, he said, “Didn’t I promise to take you to Cairnhope?”

“Ay,” said Jael; and she beamed and blushed in a moment.

“Well, I must go there, Sunday at the latest.  So I will come for you, if you like.  Will you be ready at ten o’clock?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bring a gig, and take you like a lady.”

“Anyway you please.  I’d as lieve walk as ride.”

“I prefer riding.  Ten o’clock, the day after to-morrow.  Good-by.”

And he hurried away, provoked, not pleased, at the manifest pleasure he had given.  The woman he loved—­inaccessible!  The woman he only liked—­he could spend the whole day with her.  So the reasonable youth was cross with her for that, and for being so pleased, when he was wretched.

That feeling soon wore off, however, and, being a man of business, he wrote a line to Martha Dence, and told her he should visit her on Sunday.  He added, with a gleam of good-humor, “and look out, for I shall bring my lass,” intending to give them all an agreeable surprise; for Jael, he knew, was an immense favorite.

Next day he went on the hills with Billy, and, instead of thinking for the benefit of his enemies, as agreed with Amboyne, he set himself to hate every body, especially Miss Carden’s lover, and the Hillsborough Unions.  The grinders and file-cutters might die like sheep.  What did he care?  As much as they cared for him.  Dr. Amboyne was too good for this world, and should keep his money to himself.  He (Henry Little) would earn none of it, would take none of it.  What invention he had should all go to outwit the Trades, and turn that old ruffian’s church into his own smithy.  This double master-stroke, by which he was to defeat one enemy, and secretly affront another, did make him chuckle one or twice, not with joy, but with bitterness.