shment, the letter
never reached his hands. When, therefore, he returned to London he was
justified in supposing that she had refused even to notice his appeal.
He was, however, determined that he would still make further
struggles. He had, he felt, to contend with many difficulties. Mrs
Hurtle, Roger Carbury, and Hetta's mother were, he thought, all
inimical to him. Mrs Hurtle, though she had declared that she would
not rage as a lioness, could hardly be his friend in the matter. Roger
had repeatedly declared his determination to regard him as a traitor.
And Lady Carbury, as he well knew, had always been and always would be
opposed to the match. But Hetta had owned that she loved him, had
submitted to his caresses, and had been proud of his admiration. And
Paul, though he did not probably analyse very carefully the character
of his beloved, still felt instinctively that, having so far prevailed
with such a girl, his prospects could not be altogether hopeless. And
yet how should he continue the struggle? With what weapons should he
carry on the fight? The writing of letters is but a one-sided,
troublesome proceeding, when the person to whom they are written will
not answer them; and the calling at a door at which the servant has
been instructed to refuse a visitor admission, becomes disagreeable,--
if not degrading,--after a time.

But Hetta had written a second epistle,--not to her lover, but to one
who received his letters with more regularity. When she rashly and
with precipitate wrath quarrelled with Paul Montague, she at once
communicated the fact to her mother, and through her mother to her
cousin Roger. Though she would not recognize Roger as a lover, she did
acknowledge him to be the head of her family, and her own special
friend, and entitled in some special way to know all that she herself
did, and all that was done in regard to her. She therefore wrote to
her cousin, telling him that she had made a mistake about Paul, that
she was convinced that Paul had always behaved to her with absolute
sincerity, and, in short, that Paul was the best, and dearest, and
most ill-used of human beings. In her enthusiasm she went on to
declare that there could be no other chance of happiness for her in
this world than that of becoming Paul's wife, and to beseech her
dearest friend and cousin Roger not to turn against her, but to lend
her an aiding hand. There are those whom strong words in letters never
affect at all,--who, p