st myself forward
again. I have never broken my word to you--how many have you broken to
me? When you gave me the diamonds to wear you were not thinking of
having another wife. And I now give them up--I don't reproach you--I
only ask you to let me give them up in my own way. Have I not borne it
well? Everything is to be taken away from me, and when I ask for a
straw, a chip--you deny it me." She had spoken rapidly, but after a
little pause she said more slowly, her voice freed from its muffled
tone: "I will not bear to have it denied me."

Grandcourt had a baffling sense that he had to deal with something like
madness; he could only govern by giving way. The servant came to say
the fly was ready. When the door was shut again Grandcourt said
sullenly, "We are going to Ryelands then."

"They shall be delivered to her there," said Lydia, with decision.

"Very well, I am going." He felt no inclination even to take her hand:
she had annoyed him too sorely. But now that she had gained her point,
she was prepared to humble herself that she might propitiate him.

"Forgive me; I will never vex you again," she said, with beseeching
looks. Her inward voice said distinctly--"It is only I who have to
forgive." Yet she was obliged to ask forgiveness.

"You had better keep that promise. You have made me feel uncommonly ill
with your folly," said Grandcourt, apparently choosing this statement
as the strongest possible use of language.

"Poor thing!" cried Lydia, with a faint smile;--was he aware of the
minor fact that he made her feel ill this morning?

But with the quick transition natural to her, she was now ready to coax
him if he would let her, that they might part in some degree
reconciled. She ventured to lay her hand on his shoulder, and he did
not move away from her: she had so far succeeded in alarming him, that
he was not sorry for these proofs of returned subjection.

"Light a cigar," she said, soothingly, taking the case from his
breast-pocket and opening it.

Amidst such caressing signs of mutual fear they parted. The effect that
clung and gnawed within Grandcourt was a sense of imperfect mastery.

CHAPTER XXXI.

"A wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undreamed shores."
--SHAKESPEARE.

On the day when Gwendolen Harleth was married and became Mrs.
Grandcourt, the morning was clear and bright, and while the sun was low
a slight frost crisped the leave