"Madam! if you go to the island, I swear, by heaven, and all its hosts, it will be the dearest night's work you have ever done."
"Hem! Why don't you swear by the other place; you are likely to know more about it, some day, than you will ever know of heaven."
"Silence!" he shouted, in a fierce voice, "I repeat it; if you keep this appointment with Captain Campbell, you shall repent it, in dust and ashes!"
For a moment, he stood perfectly paralyzed, foaming at the mouth like a wild beast. Even the audacious Mrs. Courtney, trembled before the terrible pitch of passion, she had daringly excited. And with it, came another feeling, apprehensions for her personal safety.
Springing to her feet, she darted past him, reached the door, and said:
"Mr. Courtney, your disagreeable temper renders it necessary for me to leave you to solitude, which is said to be excellent for cross people. Hoping you will have recovered your usual good-temper, before we meet again, allow me, to wish you good-night."
He darted toward her, but she was gone, slamming the door after her, and was down the stairs in a twinkling. She knew he would not dare to follow her; and, reaching the dark, deserted parlor, she threw herself on a lounge, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. In that moment, she fairly hated her husband.
But, when the household assembled next morning, little Mrs. Courtney looked as bright, and smiling, and breezy as ever, and met her pale, sour-visaged husband with her customary, careless unconcern. He, too, was calm; but, it was a delusive lull in the storm. The treacherous peace of the sleeping volcano—the menacing quiet of a savage, seeking revenge—a calm, more to be dreaded, than his former, fierce outburst of passion.