replaced everything in the
envelope, and, taking it, together with the other letter addressed to
Arthur, unbuttoned the top of her loose-bodied white dress, and placed
them in her bosom.

"It is over," she said to herself. "I can never marry him now. That
woman is as far above me as the stars, and, sooner or later, he would
find it all out. He must go, ah, God! he must go to marry _her_. Why
should I not destroy these letters, and marry him to-morrow? bind him
to me by a tie that no letters can ever break? What! purchase his
presence at the price of his daily scorn? Oh, such water is too bitter
for me to drink! I have sinned against you, Arthur, but I will sin no
more. Good-bye, my dear, good-bye."

And she laid her throbbing head upon the rail of the verandah, and
wept bitterly.

CHAPTER LXXIV

About three o'clock that afternoon Arthur returned to the Quinta,
having lunched on board the _Roman_. He found Mildred sitting in her
favourite place on the museum verandah. She was very pale, and, if he
had watched her, he would have seen that she was trembling all over,
but he did not observe her particularly.

"Well," he said, "it is all nonsense about half the crew being
drowned; only one man was killed, by the fall of a spar, poor chap.
They ran into Vigo, as I thought. The other mail is just coming in--
but what is the matter, Mildred? You look pale."

"Nothing, dear; I have a good deal to think of, that is all."

"Ah, yes! Well, my love, have you made up your mind?"

"Why did I refuse to marry you before; for your sake, or mine,
Arthur?"

"You said--absurdly, I thought--for mine!"

"And what I said I meant, and what I meant, I mean. Look me in the
face, dear, and tell me, upon your honour as a gentleman, that you
love me, really love me, and I will marry you to-morrow."

"I am very fond of you, Mildred, and I will make you a good and true
husband."

"Precisely; that is what I expected, but it is _not_ enough for me.
There was a time when I thought that I could be well satisfied if you
would only look kindly upon me, but I suppose that _l'appetit vient en
mangeant_, for, now you do that, I am not satisfied. I long to reign
alone. But that is not all. I will not consent to tie you, who do not
love me, to my apron-strings for life. Believe me, the time is very
near when you would curse me, if I did. You say"--and she rose and
stretched out her arm--"that you will either marry