"For pity's sake don't trifle with me! Does she love him?" "La, James, how can I tell? She mayn't love him quite as much as I could love a man that took my fancy" (here she cast a languishing glance on Seaton); "but I see no difference between her and other young ladies. Miss is very fond of her papa, for one thing; and he favors the match. Ay, and she likes her partner well enough. She is brighter like, now he is in the house, and she reads all her friends' letters to him ever so lovingly; and I do notice she leans on him out walking, a trifle more than there is any need for." At this picture James Seaton writhed in his bed like some agonized creature under vivisection; but the woman, spurred by jealousy, and also by egotistical passion, had no mercy left for him. "And why not?" continued she; "he is young and handsome and rich and he dotes on her. If you are really her friend you ought to be glad she is so well suited." At this admonition the tears stood in Seaton's eyes, and after awhile he got strength to say, "I know I ought, I know it. If he is only worthy of her, as worthy as any man could be." "That he is, James. Why, I'll be bound you have heard of him. It is young Mr. Wardlaw." Seaton started up in bed. "Who? Wardlaw? what Wardlaw?" "What Wardlaw? why, the great London merchant, his son. Leastways he manages the whole concern now, I hear; the old gentleman, he is retired by all accounts." "CURSE HIM! CURSE HIM! CURSE HIM!" yelled James Seaton, with his eyes glaring fearfully and both hands beating the air. Sarah Wilson recoiled with alarm. "That angel marry _him!"_ shrieked Seaton. "Never, while I live. I'll throttle him with these hands first." What more his ungovernable fury would have uttered was interrupted by a rush of nurses and attendants, and Wilson was bundled out of the place with little ceremony. He contrived, however, to hurl a word after her, accompanied with a look of concentrated rage and resolution. "NEVER, I TELL YOU--WHILE I LIVE." At her next visit to the hospital Wilson was refused admission by order of the head surgeon. She left her flowers daily all the same. After a few days she thought the matter might have cooled, and, having a piece of news to communicate to Seaton with respect to Arthur Wardlaw, she asked to see that patient. "Left the hospital this morning," was the reply. "What, cured?" "Why not? We have cured worse cases than his." "Where has he gone to? Pray tell me." "Oh, certainly." And inquiry was made. But the reply was, "Left no address." Sarah Wilson, like many other women of high and low degree, had swift misgivings of mischief to come. She was taken with a fit of trembling, and had to sit down in the hall. And, to tell the truth, she had cause to tremble; for that tongue of hers had launched two wild beasts--Jealousy and Revenge. When she got better she went home, and, coward-like, said not a word to living soul.