Dr. Shrapnel’s exhortations were so worded as to induce her to comport herself like a Scriptural woman, humbly wakeful to the surpassing splendour of the high fortune which had befallen her in being so selected, and obedient at a sign.  But she was, it appeared that she was, a maid of scaly vision, not perceptive of the blessedness of her lot.  She could have been very little perceptive, for she did not understand his casual allusion to Beauchamp’s readiness to overcome ’a natural repugnance,’ for the purpose of making her his wife.

Up to the last moment, before Cecilia Halkett left the deck of the Esperanza to step on the pier, Jenny remained in vague but excited expectation of something intervening to bring Cecilia and Beauchamp together.  It was not a hope; it was with pure suspense that she awaited the issue.  Cecilia was pale.  Beauchamp shook Mr. Tuckham by the hand, and said:  ‘I shall not hear the bells, but send me word of it, will you?’ and he wished them both all happiness.

The sails of the schooner filled.  On a fair frosty day, with a light wind ruffling from the North-west, she swept away, out of sight of Bevisham, and the island, into the Channel, to within view of the coast of France.  England once below the water-line, alone with Beauchamp and Dr. Shrapnel, Jenny Denham knew her fate.

As soon as that grew distinctly visible in shape and colour, she ceased to be reluctant.  All about her, in air and sea and unknown coast, was fresh and prompting.  And if she looked on Beauchamp, the thought—­my husband! palpitated, and destroyed and re-made her.  Rapidly she underwent her transformation from doubtfully-minded woman to woman awakening clear-eyed, and with new sweet shivers in her temperate blood, like the tremulous light seen running to the morn upon a quiet sea.  She fell under the charm of Beauchamp at sea.

In view of the island of Madeira, Jenny noticed that some trouble had come upon Dr. Shrapnel and Beauchamp, both of whom had been hilarious during the gales; but sailing into Summer they began to wear that look which indicated one of their serious deliberations.  She was not taken into their confidence, and after awhile they recovered partially.

The truth was, they had been forced back upon old English ground by a recognition of the absolute necessity, for her sake, of handing themselves over to a parson.  In England, possibly, a civil marriage might have been proposed to the poor girl.  In a foreign island, they would be driven not simply to accept the services of a parson, but to seek him and solicit him:  otherwise the knot, faster than any sailor’s in binding, could not be tied.  Decidedly it could not; and how submit?  Neither Dr. Shrapnel nor Beauchamp were of a temper to deceive the clerical gentleman; only they had to think of Jenny’s feelings.  Alas for us!—­this our awful baggage in the rear of humanity, these women who have not moved on their own feet one step since the primal