Craven Le Noir's thin, white face grew perfectly livid with passion.
"I will have her yet! I have sworn it, and by fair means or by foul
I will have her yet!" he exclaimed, as he relaxed his hold upon his
bridle and let his horse go on slowly, while he sat with his brows
gathered over his thin nose, his long chin buried in his neckcloth
and his nails between his teeth, gnawing like a wild beast, as was
his custom when deeply cogitating.
Presently he conceived a plan so diabolical that none but Satan
himself could have inspired it! This was to take advantage of his
acquaintance and casual meetings with Capitola so to malign her
character as to make it unlikely that any honest man would risk his
honor by taking her to wife; that thus the way might be left clear
for himself; and he resolved, if possible, to effect this in such a
manner--namely, by jests, innuendos and sneers--that it should never
be directly traced to a positive assertion on his part. And in the
mean time he determined to so govern himself in his deportment
toward Capitola as to arouse no suspicion, give no offense and, if
possible, win back her confidence.
It is true that even Craven Le Noir, base as he was, shrank from the
idea of smirching the reputation of the woman whom he wished to make
a wife; but then he said to himself that in that remote neighborhood
the scandal would be of little consequence to him, who, as soon as
he should be married, would claim the estate of the Hidden House in
right of his wife, put it in charge of an overseer and then, with
his bride, start for Paris, the paradise of the epicurean, where he
designed to fix their principal residence.
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