Miss Rochester laughed out mockingly. “Dr. True does not appear to be in any great hurry to have his chains irrevocably riveted,” she said with some bitterness, “but as far as that divorce is considered there will be no trouble about that, for you know the letter I received from Converse the day before yesterday, spoke very encouragingly—he the same as promised that I should have the papers within three months; that letter which I made Salome sign did the business. How provoking it was that she turned up as she did, to make all this trouble,” she concluded with a frown. “Well, but tell me about your interview with Dr. Winthrop,” said Mrs. Rochester curiously. The young lady complied, and gave her a faithful account of all that had passed between herself and her reluctant suitor. “Flattering, wasn’t it?” she said sarcastically, in conclusion, “to be told that my promised husband loved another woman to distraction, while he tried to beg off by pleading the cause of somebody else. If I had not vowed that I would be mistress of Brookside and Englehurst at any cost, I believe I would have given him a curt dismissal.” “Don’t do anything rash,” pleaded Mrs. Rochester earnestly, “you will be lucky to get him under any circumstances, if you can be sure of the divorce; it would be dreadful to run any risk of—bigamy.” “Nonsense, mamma. Converse knows what he is about. I have given him a true statement of affairs, and as he assures me that it will be all right, it surely will be. And, mamma, we must never let Salome out of that place, for if she and Dr. Winthrop should ever meet, even after I have bagged my game, she could make no end of trouble for me.” “I intend that she shall never do any harm,” Mrs. Rochester significantly returned. Then she asked, “Will Dr. Winthrop go with us to Italy?” “No—I hope not,” the girl retorted, a flush suddenly suffusing her face; for although she meant to marry him in spite of everything, she hoped to be able to still carry on a secret flirtation with his brother—her stolen love-dream was too sweet to be relinquished just yet. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE WINTHROPS AND ROCHESTERS LEAVE FOR ROME. Late that evening Miss Rochester was passing through a dimly lighted corridor, when she was suddenly confronted by a tall figure, who seized her hand in a viselike grip. It was Norman Winthrop, and his face was so distorted with pain and passion that the girl started back affrighted. “Norman!” she gasped, and struggled to release her hand. He gave vent to a bitter laugh. “Don’t be afraid—I shall not harm you, though if I look as I feel I must appear devilish,” he said. “It is a hard word, Sadie,” he added, as she winced, “but no other will express the state of mind I am in at present. So it is settled beyond recall that you are to marry my brother?” he concluded inquiringly, while he searched her face despairingly.