Coarse
and dissolute, indifference follows, cold and cutting; she finds
herself a mere instrument of baser purpose in the hands of one she
knows only as a ruffian-she loathes! Thus driven under the burden of
trouble, she begins to express her unhappiness, to remonstrate
against his associations, to plead with him against his course of
life. He jeers at this, scouts such prudery, proclaims it far
beneath the dignity of his standing as a southern gentleman.
The generous woman could have endured his dissipation-she might have
tolerated his licentiousness, but his arbitrary and very
uncalled-for remarks upon the misfortunes of her family are more
than she can bear. She has tried to respect him-love him she
cannot-and yet her sensitive nature recoils at the thought of being
attached to one whose feelings and associations are so at variance
with her own. Her impulsive spirit quails under the bitterness of
her lot; she sees the dreary waste of trouble before her only to
envy the happiness of those days of rural life spent on the old
plantation. That she should become fretful and unhappy is a natural
consequence.
We must invite the reader to go with us to M'Carstrow's residence,
an old-fashioned wooden building, three stories high, with large
basement windows and doors, on the south side of King Street. It is
a wet, gloomy night, in the month of November,--the wind, fierce and
chilling, has just set in from the north-east; a drenching rain
begins to fall, the ships in the harbour ride ill at ease; the
sudden gusts of wind, sweeping through the narrow streets of the
city, lighted here and there by the sickly light of an old-fashioned
lamp, bespread the scene with drear.
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