’Oh, Mr Glascock, you have been such a friend!  What should we have done without you!’

’You cannot take to heart the words that come from a disordered reason.  In truth, he believes no ill of you.’

‘But he says so.’

’It is hard to know what he says.  Declare that you will submit to him, and I think that he will be softened towards you.  Try to bring him back to his own country.  It may be that were he to die there, alone, the memory of his loneliness would be heavy with you in after days.’  Then, having so spoken, he rushed off, declaring, with a forced laugh, that Caroline Spalding would never forgive him.

The next day was the day of the wedding, and Emily Trevelyan was left all alone.  It was of course out of the question that she should join any party the purport of which was to be festive.  Sir Marmaduke went with some grumbling, declaring that wine and severe food in the mornings were sins against the plainest rules of life.  And the three Rowley girls went, Nora officiating as one of the bridesmaids.  But Mrs Trevelyan was left with her boy, and during the day she was forced to resolve what should be the immediate course of her life.  Two days after the wedding her family would return to England.  It was open to her to go with them, and to take her boy with her.  But a few days since how happy she would have been could she have been made to believe that such a mode of returning would be within her power!  But now she felt that she might not return and leave that poor, suffering wretch behind her.  As she thought of him she tried to interrogate herself in regard to her feelings.  Was it love, or duty, or compassion which stirred her?  She had loved him as fondly as any bright young woman loves the man who is to take her away from everything else, and make her a part of his house and of himself.  She had loved him as Nora now loved the man whom she worshipped and thought to be a god, doing godlike work in the dingy recesses of the D. R. office.  Emily Trevelyan was forced to tell herself that all that was over with her.  Her husband had shown himself to be weak, suspicious, unmanly—­by no means like a god.  She had learned to feel that she could not trust her comfort in his hands, that she could never know what his thoughts of her might be.  But still he was her husband, and the father of her child; and though she could not dare to look forward to happiness in living with him, she could understand that no comfort would be possible to her, were she to return to England and to leave him to perish alone at Casalunga.  Fate seemed to have intended that her life should be one of misery, and she must bear it as best she might.