inda and Mrs. Carbuncle were alone. "Of one thing I feel
sure," said Lucinda in a low voice.

"What is that, dear?"

"I shall never see Sir Griffin Tewett again."

"You talk in that way on purpose to break me down at the last
moment," said Mrs. Carbuncle.

"Dear Aunt Jane, I would not break you down if I could help it. I
have struggled so hard,--simply that you might be freed from me.
We have been very foolish, both of us; but I would bear all the
punishment,--if I could."

"You know that this is nonsense now."

"Very well. I only tell you. I know that I shall never see him again.
I will never trust myself alone in his presence. I could not do it.
When he touches me my whole body is in agony. To be kissed by him is
madness."

"Lucinda, this is very wicked. You are working yourself up to a
paroxysm of folly."

"Wicked;--yes, I know that I am wicked. There has been enough of
wickedness certainly. You don't suppose that I mean to excuse
myself?"

"Of course you will marry Sir Griffin to-morrow."

"I shall never be married to him. How I shall escape from him,--by
dying, or going mad,--or by destroying him, God only knows." Then she
paused, and her aunt looking into her face almost began to fear that
she was in earnest. But she would not take it as at all indicating
any real result for the morrow. The girl had often said nearly the
same thing before, and had still submitted. "Do you know, Aunt Jane,
I don't think I could feel to any man as though I loved him. But for
this man,-- Oh God, how I do detest him! I cannot do it."

"You had better go to bed, Lucinda, and let me come to you in the
morning."

"Yes;--come to me in the morning;--early."

"I will,--at eight."

"I shall know then, perhaps."

"My dear, will you come to my room to-night, and sleep with me?"

"Oh, no. I have ever so many things to do. I have papers to burn,
and things to put away. But come to me at eight. Good night, Aunt
Jane." Mrs. Carbuncle went up to her room with her, kissed her
affectionately, and then left her.

She was now really frightened. What would be said of her if she
should press the marriage forward to a completion, and if after
that some terrible tragedy should take place between the bride and
bridegroom? That Lucinda, in spite of all that had been said, would
stand at the altar, and allow the ceremony to be performed, she still
believed. Those last words about burning papers and putting things
away, seemed to imply