former reluctance to trust it to home-keeping returned, and remained
unchanged throughout the whole of the long year's probation which I
had engaged to pass. But this mattered little. As events turned out,
if I had told Clara all, the end would have come in the same way, the
fatality would have been accomplished by the same means.

I went out shortly after my sister had left me. I could give myself to
no occupation at home, for the rest of that night; and I knew that it
would be useless to attempt to sleep just then. As I walked through
the streets, bitter thoughts against my father rose in my mind--bitter
thoughts against his inexorable family pride, which imposed on me the
concealment and secrecy, under the oppression of which I had already
suffered so much--bitter thoughts against those social tyrannies,
which take no account of human sympathy and human love, and which my
father now impersonated, as it were, to my ideas. Gradually these
reflections merged in others that were better. I thought of Clara
again; consoling myself with the belief, that, however my father might
receive the news of my marriage, I might count upon my sister as
certain to love my wife and be kind to her, for my sake. This thought
led my heart back to Margaret--led it gently and happily. I went home,
calmed and reassured again--at least for the rest of the night.

The events of that week, so fraught with importance for the future of
my life, passed with ominous rapidity.

The marriage license was procured; all remaining preliminaries with
Mr. Sherwin were adjusted; I saw Margaret every day, and gave myself
up more and more unreservedly to the charm that she exercised over me,
at each succeeding interview. At home, the bustle of approaching
departure; the farewell visitings; the multitudinous minor