Laura Courtney sat alone on a sofa in a remote corner, her head on her hand, her brows knit in painful thought. This fierce jealousy of her husband's was growing insufferable; she felt she could not endure it much longer. Every word, every look, every action was warped and distorted by his jealous imagination into another proof of her guilt. And she painfully felt that this absurd jealousy must soon be apparent to every one—an almost unendurable thought; for, in spite of all her levity and apparent indifference, the little girl-wife possessed too much pride and self-respect to carelessly submit to such a bitter humiliation.
"I wish I knew what to do," she thought. "If I submit to all his whims and caprices, it will only make matters worse. Nothing can remove this deep-rooted passion, and the yoke he will lay on my neck will become unbearable. Oh, I was mad, crazed, ever to marry him. Every one that knew him told me how it would be—that he was tyrannical, jealous, exacting, and passionate, but I only laughed at them, and deemed him perfection. How I could ever have loved him, I'm sure I don't know, for he hasn't a single lovable quality in him. However, it's too late to think of this now; I want to forget the past altogether, if I can, and my folly with it. Good gracious! what an awful look was on his face that time when I turned round. Perhaps, after all, I had better not go to the island. The man's a monomaniac on this point, and it won't do to drive him to desperation."
She bent her forehead on her hand, and remained for a few moments lost in troubled thought.
"No, I shall not go; but I will not give him the triumph of knowing it. He shall not think I am afraid of him, and that he has humbled me at last," she said, half aloud, as she raised her head proudly. "I will avoid Captain Campbell, too, as much as possible, if I can do so without attracting attention. Heigho! what it is to have a jealous husband! I wonder where Edgar is? Perhaps he has gone to Westport, and left me here!"
"Prithee, why so sad?" said the jovial voice of Mrs. Brantwell, breaking in at this moment on her reverie.
"You are looking as doleful as if some near relation had just been hung for sheep-stealing. Come, I can't allow any one in my house to wear so doleful a face. Don't indulge in the blues, my dear, or you need never expect to wax fat and portly, as I am. Come, let me see you smile, now."
"Oh, Mrs. Brantwell! who could be sad in your sunshiny presence," said Laura, smiling as brightly as even the good old lady could wish; "but, really, I wasn't out of spirits—only dreadfully sleepy." And an immense yawn confirmed the truth of her words.
"No wonder; it's four o'clock, so you had better retire. Jenny will show you to your room."
"Did you see—has Mr. Courtney—" began Laura, hesitatingly, as she rose.
"Mr. Courtney went to bed a quarter of an hour ago, my dear. And here's Jenny, now, with your lamp. Good-night, love!" And kissing her, Mrs. Brantwell consigned her to the charge of a neat mulatto girl, who appeared with a light at the door.