At this picture James Seaton writhed in his bed like some agonized
creature under vivisection; but the woman, spurred by jealousy, and also
by egotistical passion, had no mercy left for him.

"And why not?" continued she; "he is young and handsome and rich and he
dotes on her. If you are really her friend you ought to be glad she is so
well suited."

At this admonition the tears stood in Seaton's eyes, and after awhile he
got strength to say, "I know I ought, I know it. If he is only worthy of
her, as worthy as any man could be."

"That he is, James. Why, I'll be bound you have heard of him. It is young
Mr. Wardlaw."

Seaton started up in bed. "Who? Wardlaw? what Wardlaw?"

"What Wardlaw? why, the great London merchant, his son. Leastways he
manages the whole concern now, I hear; the old gentleman, he is retired
by all accounts."

"CURSE HIM! CURSE HIM! CURSE HIM!" yelled James Seaton, with his eyes
glaring fearfully and both hands beating the air.

Sarah Wilson recoiled with alarm.

"That angel marry _him!"_ shrieked Seaton. "Never, while I live. I'll
throttle him with these hands first."