“That your three-months wife, even while acknowledging your right to command her, disobeys you, because she must, Philip! she must! but even in so doing, she submits herself to you to meet uncomplainingly all consequences--yes, to say short, they are natural and just! Philip, you have my final answer. Do your will! I am yours!” And saying this, she arose, and with a manner full of loving submission, went to his side, laid her hand lightly upon his arm and looked up into his face. But he shook that hand off as if it had been a viper; and when she replaced it, and again looked pleadingly up into his face, he took her by the arm and whirled her off toward the sofa, where she dropped amid the cushions, and then with a fierce, half-arrested oath, he flung himself out of the room. “I cannot blame him: no one could. Oh, God,” she cried, sinking down and burying her head amid the cushions. Quickly with sudden energy she arose, and went to the window and looked out; the sky was still darker with clouds than with night; but the wind had ceased and the sea was quiet. She returned toward the fireplace and rang the bell, which was speedily answered by Forrest. Forrest, the son of her old nurse, Aunt Hapsy, was a tall, stalwart, jet-black negro of some fifty years of age, faithfully and devotedly attached to his mistress, and whose favorite vanity it was to boast that--Laws! niggers! he had toted Miss Marget about in his arms, of’en an’ of’en when she was no more’n so high, holding his broad black palm about two feet from the ground. “How is the weather, Forrest?” inquired Mrs. Helmstedt, who was now at the cabinet, that I have mentioned as standing to the right of the fireplace, and writing rapidly. “Bad ’nough, Miss Marget, ma’am, I ’sures you.” “The wind has stopped.” “O’ny to catch his breaf, Miss Marget, ma’am. He’ll ’mence ’gain strong’n ever--you’ll hear--’cause ef he didn’t stop at de tide comin’ in, dis ebenen, he ain’t gwine stop till it do go out to-morrow morn’n.” Mrs. Helmstedt had finished writing, folded, closed and directed a letter, which she now brought to her messenger. “Forrest, I don’t wish you to endanger your life by venturing to cross to the shore in a gale, but I wish this letter posted in time to go out in the mail at six o’clock to-morrow morning, and so you may take charge of it now; and if the wind should go down at any time to-night, you can carry it to the post office.” “Miss Marget, ma’am, it goes. I ain’t gwine to ask no win’ no leave to take your letter to de pos’--when you wants it go it goes,” said the faithful creature, putting the letter carefully into his breast pocket. “Any oder orders, Miss Marget, ma’am?” “No, only take care of yourself.” Forrest bowed reverently and went out, softly closing the door behind him.