At first no one could believe that this would last; they all looked to a speedy termination of their captivity. Ellen received letters from her husband, who was among the _detenus_ at Verdun, which filled her with pity and alarm. His jealousy, which could not be completely lulled when his virtuous and modest wife was constantly under his own eye, now raged like a devouring flame. He threatened to commit some crime which could only be atoned by his life, rather than endure the living death which consumed him. He braved the authorities—he would not accept his parole—he would not preclude himself from attempting every means in his power to again see the wife whom he adored. His letters were written in a state of mind bordering on distraction. In vain Ellen described to him her quiet mode of existence, entreated him to wait with patience till he could return in health and safety to his family, and promised faithfully to continue in the seclusion which he had prescribed. She communicated to him her intention of taking a cottage near her father and sisters, where the children might have the benefit of country air, and where she might be in some measure under the protection of her father without joining in the society of the town. The other partners in Mr. Cresford’s house were now obliged to transact the business. All that could be done was to await the events which time might bring forth, and meanwhile to take every opportunity of transmitting to him funds which might enable him to exist in such comfort as might be found within the walls of a prison. Ellen never deviated from the line of conduct which she had marked out for herself. She felt perfectly confident that her husband would soon return, and she so dreaded what might be his anger if he heard of her having joined in any the most innocent amusement, that she never left her home except to visit her father, and she never received any one except her own immediate relations. She shrank from the appearance, or the suspicion, of the slightest impropriety with as much sensitive horror as many would from any actual breach of decorum. The even tenor of Ellen’s monotonous life was one day most agreeably broken in upon by the entrance of Caroline, who, with a face of joyous mystery, made her appearance at her sister’s cottage immediately after breakfast. “I have such news for you, Ellen. You have been right all along, and Mr. Allenham has proposed. He came to dinner yesterday, and told papa that his uncle’s friend, Lord Coverdale, had presented him to the living of Longbury, and that he might now look forward to possessing a competency, and that he had long been attached to me; and then he says that the house is a very nice one, and that he is to remove to it from his curacy in about six months.” “But you do not tell me what answer you have given him,” replied Ellen, smiling.