chamber Wallachia Petrie shed,--not
absolute tears,--but many tearful thoughts over her friend. It was
to her a thing very terrible that the chosen one of her heart should
prefer the career of an English lord's wife to that of an American
citizeness, with all manner of capability for female voting, female
speech-making, female poetising, and, perhaps, female political
action before her. It was a thousand pities! "You may take a horse
to water,"--said Wallachia to herself, thinking of the ever-freshly
springing fountain of her own mind, at which Caroline Spalding would
always have been made welcome freely to quench her thirst,--"but you
cannot make him drink if he be not athirst." In the future she would
have no friend. Never again would she subject herself to the disgrace
of such a failure. But the sacrifice was to be made, and she knew
that it was bootless to waste her words further on Caroline Spalding.
She left Florence before the wedding, and returned alone to the land
of liberty. She wrote a letter to Caroline explaining her conduct,
and Caroline Spalding shewed the letter to her husband,--as one that
was both loving and eloquent.

"Very loving and very eloquent," he said. "But, nevertheless, one
does think of sour grapes."

"There I am sure you wrong her," said Caroline.

CHAPTER LXXXII.

MRS. FRENCH'S CARVING KNIFE.

During these days there were terrible doings at Exeter. Camilla had
sworn that if Mr. Gibson did not come to, there should be a tragedy,
and it appeared that she was inclined to keep her word. Immediately
after the receipt of her letter from Mr. Gibson she had had an
interview with that gentleman in his lodgings, and had asked him his
intentions. He had taken measures to fortify himself against such an
attack; but, whatever those measures were, Camilla had broken through
them. She had stood before him as he sat in his arm-chair, and he had
been dumb in her presence. It had perhaps been well for him that the
eloquence of her indignation had been so great that she had hardly
been able to pause a moment for a reply. "Will you take your letter
back again?" she had said. "I should be wrong to do that," he had
lisped out in reply, "because it is true. As a Christian minister
I could not stand with you at the altar with a lie in my mouth."
In no other way did he attempt to excuse himself,--but that, twice
repeated, filled up all the pause which she made for him.

[Illustration: Camilla'