That very afternoon, as he was walking near his cottage in the country, ruminating on Edith Leslie and Horace Vinal, he raised his head and saw a lady and gentleman, on horseback, emerging into view from a wooded bend of the road. A thrill ran through him from head to foot. They were the two persons of whom he was thinking. He bowed to Miss Leslie. She replied with a frank bow and smile; and Vinal, as he passed, made an easy nonchalant gesture of recognition. The jealous pedestrian turned and looked after them. They had ridden a few rods when Vinal also turned his head, but, catching Morton's eye, instantly averted it again. Morton fairly ground his teeth with anger and vexation. To be jealous was bad enough; but that Vinal should be conscious of his jealousy, and perhaps triumph in it, goaded him beyond endurance. He went home, saddled and bridled a horse with his own hands, mounted, and ranged the country for an hour or two, to get rid of the vulture that was preying on him. At length he grew more rational, and was able to reflect that Vinal's riding with Miss Leslie did not necessarily imply that he stood, in any special sense, within her favor, since he was the near relative of her mother-in-law, and had formerly been for years an inmate of her father's house. On the next day, at a time when he thought that Vinal must be safe in his office, Morton took heart of grace, and called on Miss Leslie. An old woman, an ancient dependant of the family, raised, as she would have phrased it, in the backwoods of Matherton, opened the door. "Is Miss Leslie at home?" "No; she was took sick yesterday, very sudden." "Miss Leslie!" ejaculated the visitor. "Yes; the doctor says she's goin' to die, sartin; right away, may be." "What?" gasped Morton. "It wasn't only this morning we heered on it," said the old Yankee housekeeper, "and Miss Edith's gone up to Matherton, to tend on her." "O, you mean Mrs. Leslie." "Yes; Miss Leslie, Miss Edith's mother-in-law; she never was a well woman, ever since I've knowed her." And the old woman closed the door; while Morton walked away, without knowing in what direction he was moving. CHAPTER XVI. _Sganarelle_. O, la grande fatigue quo d'avoir une femme, et qu'Aristote a bien raison quand il dit qu'une femme est pire qu'un demon!--_Le Medecin Malgre Lui_. Thus day by day and month by month we past; It pleased the Lord to take my spouse at last--_Pope_. It was nine years since, in an evil hour, Leslie had first seen Miss Cynthia Everille, playing on a harp, and accompanying herself in a thin, sweet voice, with words of her own composing. His weak heart succumbed: he fell in love off hand; and within a year after the death of his first wife, Edith's mother, her picture was taken from the wall, and a second Mrs. Leslie reigned in her stead.