She then darted from the room, leaving her lover in dumb amazement, at the conclusion of an interview so different from his expectations. For the resentment of Laura he had been prepared; but upon her determined refusal, he had never calculated, and scarcely could he now admit the reality. Could he give her credit for the professed motive of her rejection? Colonel Hargrave had nothing in himself that made it natural for him to suppose passion sacrificed to reason and principle. Had he then deceived himself,—had she never really loved him?—the suggestion was too mortifying to be admitted. Had resentment given rise to her determination? She had spoken from the first with calmness,—at last with tenderness. Was all this but a scene of coquetry, designed to enhance her favours? The simple, the noble, the candid Laura guilty of coquetry?—impossible! While these thoughts darted with confused rapidity through his mind, one idea alone was distinct and permanent—Laura had rejected him. This thought was torture. Strong resentment mingled with his anguish; and to inflict, on the innocent cause of it, pangs answering to those he felt, would have afforded to Hargrave the highest gratification. Though his passion for Laura was the most ardent of which he was capable, its effects, for the present, more resembled those of the bitterest hatred. That she loved him, he would not allow himself to doubt; and, therefore, he concluded that neglect would inflict the surest, as well as the most painful wound. Swearing that he would make her feel it at her heart's core, he left the cottage, strode to the village inn, surlily ordered his horses, and, in a humour compounded of revenge, impatient passion, and wounded pride, returned to his quarters at ——. His scheme of revenge had all the success that such schemes usually have or deserve; and while, for one whole week, he deigned not, by visit or letter, to notice his mistress, the real suffering which he inflicted, did not exactly fall on her for whom he intended the pain.
CHAPTER III
To an interview which he presumed would be as delightful as interesting, Captain Montreville chose to give no interruption; and therefore he had walked out to superintend his hay-making: But, after staying abroad for two hours, which he judged a reasonable length for a tête-à-tête, he returned, and was a little surprised to find that the Colonel was gone. Though he entertained not a doubt of the issue of the conference, he had some curiosity to know the particulars, and summoned Laura to communicate them.
'Well, my love,' said he, as the conscious Laura shut the parlour door, 'is Colonel Hargrave gone?'
'Long ago, Sir.'
'I thought he would have waited my return.'
Laura made no answer.
'When are we to see him again?'
Laura did not know.