d against,
and had schemed. She had fitted herself to the life which had befallen
her. But in regard to money, she had been honest and she had been
loving of heart. With her heart of hearts she had loved this young
Englishman;--and now, after all her scheming, all her daring, with all
her charms, this was to be the end of it! Oh, what a journey would
this be which she must now make back to her own country, all alone!

But the strongest feeling which raged within her bosom was that of
disappointed love. Full as had been the vials of wrath which she had
poured forth over Montague's head, violent as had been the storm of
abuse with which she had assailed him, there had been after all
something counterfeited in her indignation. But her love was no
counterfeit. At any moment if he would have returned to her and taken
her in his arms, she would not only have forgiven him but have blessed
him also for his kindness. She was in truth sick at heart of violence
and rough living and unfeminine words. When driven by wrongs the old
habit came back upon her. But if she could only escape the wrongs, if
she could find some niche in the world which would be bearable to her,
in which, free from harsh treatment, she could pour forth all the
genuine kindness of her woman's nature,--then, she thought she could put
away violence and be gentle as a young girl. When she first met this
Englishman and found that he took delight in being near her, she had
ventured to hope that a haven would at last be open to her. But the
reek of the gunpowder from that first pistol shot still clung to her,
and she now told herself again, as she had often told herself before,
that it would have been better for her to have turned the muzzle
against her own bosom.

After receiving his letter she had run over on what she had told
herself was a vain chance. Though angry enough when that letter first
reached her, she had, with that force of character which marked her,
declared to herself that such a resolution on his part was natural. In
marrying her he must give up all his old allies, all his old haunts.
The whole world must be changed to him. She knew enough of herself,
and enough of Englishwomen, to be sure that when her past life should
be known, as it would be known, she would be avoided in England. With
all the little ridicule she was wont to exercise in speaking of the
old country there was ever mixed, as is so often the case in the minds
of American men and w