The Elysian days rolled on. Zoe was in heaven, and Severne in a fool's
paradise, enjoying everything, hoping everything, forgetting everything,
and fearing nothing. He had come to this, with all his cunning; he was
intoxicated and blinded with passion.
Now it was that the idea of marrying Zoe first entered his head. But he
was not mad enough for that. He repelled it with terror, rage, and
despair. He passed an hour or two of agony in his own room, and came
down, looking pale and exhausted. But, indeed, the little Dumas, though
he does not pass for a moralist, says truly and well, "Les amours
ille'gitimes portent toujours des fruits amers;" and Ned Severne's turn
was come to suffer a few of the pangs he had inflicted gayly on more than
one woman and her lover.
One morning at breakfast Vizard made two announcements. "Here's news,"
said he; "Dr. Gale writes to postpone her visit. She is ill, poor girl!"
"Oh, dear! what is the matter?" inquired Zoe, always kind-hearted.
"Gastritis--so she says."
"What is that?" inquired Fanny.
Mr. Severne, who was much pleased at this opportune illness, could not
restrain his humor, and said it was a disorder produced by the fumes of
gas.
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