That comment said that William was rejoiced at George’s departure and ashamed of himself for the feeling.  That Meadows rejoiced still more and was ashamed anybody should know he had the feeling.

Isaac withdrew from his lair; his task was done.

“Those men both love that woman, and this Meadows loves her with all his soul, and she-aha!” and triumph flashed from under his dark brows.  But at his age calm is the natural state of the mind and spirits; he composed himself for the present, and awaited an opportunity to strike his enemy with effect.

The aged man had read Mr. Meadows aright; under that modulated exterior raged as deep a passion as ever shook a strong nature.

For some time he had fought against it.  “She is another man’s sweetheart,” he had said to himself; “no good will come of courting her.”  But by degrees the flax bonds of prudence snapped one by one as the flame every now and then darted at them.  Meadows began to reason the matter coolly.

“They can never marry, those two.  I wish they would marry or break off, to put me out of this torture; but they can’t marry, and my sweet Susan is wasting her prime for nothing, for a dream.  Besides, it is not as if she loved him the way I love her.  She is like many a young maid.  The first comer gets her promise before she knows her value.  They walk together, get spoken of; she settles down into a groove, and so goes on, whether her heart is in it or not; it is habit more than anything.”

Then he watched the pair, and observed that Susan’s manner to George was cool and off-hand, and that she did not seem to seek opportunities of being alone with him.

Having got so far, he now felt it his duty to think of her interest.

He could not but feel that he was a great match for any farmer’s daughter; whereas “poor young Fielding,” said he compassionately, “is more likely to break as a bachelor than to support a wife and children upon ‘The Grove.’”

He next allowed his mind to dwell with some bitterness upon the poor destiny that stood between him and the woman he loved.

“George Fielding! a dull dog, that could be just as happy with any other girl as with my angel.  An oaf, so little alive to his prize that he doesn’t even see he has rivals; doesn’t see that his brother loves her.  Ah! but I see that, though; lovers’ eyes are sharp.  Doesn’t see me, who mean to take her from both these Fieldings—­and what harm?  It isn’t as if their love was like mine.  Heaven forbid I should meddle if it was.  A few weeks, and a few mugs of ale would wash her from what little mind either of them have; but I never loved a woman before, and never could look at another after her.”

And so by degrees Meadows saw that he was quite justified in his resolve to win Susan Merton, PROVIDED IT WAS DONE FAIRLY.

This resolve taken, all this man’s words and actions began to be colored more or less by his secret wishes; and it is not too much to say, that this was the hand which was gently but adroitly, with a touch here and a touch there, pushing George Fielding across the Ocean.