the truth, he had not quite determined, and thought that a word
from Mrs Baggett might assist him.

As he came out from his room, he encountered Mary, intent upon her
household duties. It was something before her usual time, and he was
surprised. She had looked ill overnight and worn, and he had expected
that she would keep her bed. "What makes you so early, Mary?" He
spoke to her with his softest and most affectionate tone.

"I couldn't sleep, and I thought I might as well be up." She had
followed him into the library, and when there he put his arm round
her waist and kissed her forehead. It was a strange thing for him
to do. She felt that it was so--very, very strange; but it never
occurred to her that it behoved her to be angry at his caress. He had
kissed her once before, and only once, and it had seemed to her that
he had intended that their love-making should go on without kisses.
But was she not his property, to do as he pleased with her? And there
could be no ground for displeasure on her part.

"Dear Mary," he said, "if you could only know how constant my
thoughts are to you." She did not doubt that it was so; but just so
constant were her thoughts to John Gordon. But from her to him there
could be no show of affection--nothing but the absolute coldness
of perfect silence. She had passed the whole evening with him last
night, and had not been allowed to speak a single word to him beyond
the ordinary greetings of society. She had felt that she had not
been allowed to speak a single word to any one, because he had been
present. Mr Whittlestaff had thrown over her the deadly mantle of
his ownership, and she had consequently felt herself to be debarred
from all right over her own words and actions. She had become his
slave; she felt herself in very truth to be a poor creature whose
only duty it was in the world to obey his volition. She had told
herself during the night that, with all her motives for loving him,
she was learning to regard him with absolute hatred. And she hated
herself because it was so. Oh, what a tedious affair was this of
living! How tedious, how sad and miserable, must her future days be,
as long as days should be left to her! Could it be made possible to
her that she should ever be able to do her duty by this husband of
hers,--for her, in whose heart of hearts would be seated continually
the image of this other man?

"By-the-by," said he, "I want to see Mrs Baggett. I suppose she is
abou