ed on this point and on some others
connected with it (which a sagacious reader may divine for himself) the
girl's first feeling in face of the astonishing future opening before
her had been one of spiteful exultation. She hated him, and he would
suffer. She hated him with all her heart and strength, and he would
suffer. There were balm and sweet satisfaction in the thought.

But presently, dwelling on the matter, she began to relent. The very
completeness of the revenge which she had in prospect robbed her of her
satisfaction. The man was so dependent on her, so deeply indebted to
her, must suffer so much by reason of her, that the maternal instinct,
which is said to be developed even in half-grown girls, took him under
its protection; and when that scene occurred in the public room of the
Castle Inn and he stood forward to shield her (albeit in an arrogant,
careless, half-insolent way that must have wounded her in other
circumstances), she was not content to forgive him only--with a smile;
but long after her companion had fallen asleep, Julia sat brooding over
the fire, her arms clasped about her knees; now reading the embers with
parted lips and shining eyes, and now sighing gently--for 'la femme
propose, mais Dieu dispose.' And nothing is certain.

After this, it may not have been pure accident that cast her in Sir
George's way when he strolled out of the house next morning. A coach had
come in, and was changing horses before the porch. The passengers were
moving to and fro before the house, grooms and horse-boys were shouting
and hissing, the guard was throwing out parcels. Soane passed through
the bustle, and, strolling to the end of the High Street, saw the girl
seated on a low parapet of the bridge that, near the end of the inn
gardens, carries the Salisbury road over the Kennet. She wore a plain
riding-coat, such as ladies then affected when they travelled and would
avoid their hoops and patches. A little hood covered her hair, which,
undressed and unpowdered, hung in a club behind; and she held up a plain
fan between her complexion and the sun.

Her seat, though quiet and remote from the bustle--for the Salisbury
road is the less frequented of the two roads--was in view of the gates
leading to the Inn; and her extreme beauty, which was that of expression
as well as feature, made her a mark for a dozen furtive eyes, of which
she affected to be unconscious. But as soon as Sir George's gaze fell on
her, her loo