anger, he paced up and down his study all the day long. Now, he said to
himself, he would go and see her, and forthwith he grew calm--that was
what his nature desired. But the man in him refused to be so servile. He
had told her that she must write; to that he would hold, whatever it
cost him. Again, he broke out in bitter blame of her.

At length he made up his mind to strive to forget her. But what if she
really cared for him, loved him as he loved her? In that case if he went
away she would be miserable, as wretched as he would be. How unkind it
was of her to leave him without a decided answer, when he could not help
thinking of her happiness! No; she did not love him. He had read enough
about women and seen enough of them to imagine that they never torture
the man they really love. He would give her up and throw himself again
into his work. He could surely do that. Then he remembered that she was
married, and must, of course, see that she would risk her position--
everything--by declaring her love. Perhaps prudence kept her silent.
Once more he was plunged in doubt.

He was glad when supper was ready, for that brought, at least for half
an hour, freedom from thought. After the meal was finished he realized
that he was weary of it all--heart-sick of the suspense. The storm
broke, and the flashing of the lightning and the falling sheets of rain
brought him relief. The air became lighter and purer. He went to bed and
slept heavily.

On the Thursday morning he awoke refreshed, and at once determined not
to think about Mrs. Hooper. It only needed resolution, he said to
himself, in order to forget her entirely. Her indifference, shown in not
writing to him, should be answered in that way. He took up his pocket
Bible, and opened it at the Gospels. The beautiful story soon exercised