He would build his mill; as he thought further, the foundation-stones were laid, the wheel turned, and the saw hissed through the live wood.

He would marry Lucina; he saw her in her bridal white-- All this time, with that sublime cruelty which man can show towards one beloved when working for love's final good, and which is a feeble prototype of the Higher method, Jerome gave not one thought to the fact that Lucina knew nothing of his plans, and, if she loved him, as she had said, must suffer.

When, moreover, one has absolute faith in, and knowledge of, his own intentions for the welfare of another, it is difficult to conceive that the other may not be able to spell out his actions towards the same meaning.
Jerome really felt as if Lucina knew.

The next Sunday he watched her come into meeting with an exquisite sense of possession, which he imagined her to understand.
When he did not go to see her that night, but, instead, sat happily brooding over the future, it never once occurred to him that it might be otherwise with her.
All poor Lucina's ebullition of spirits from her pleasant visit, her pretty gowns, and her fond belief that Jerome could not have meant what he said, and would come to see her after her return, was fast settling into the dregs of disappointment.
Night after night she put on one of her prettiest gowns, and waited with that wild torture of waiting which involves uncertainty and concealment, and Jerome did not come.

Lucina began to believe that Jerome did not love her; she tried to call her maidenly pride to her aid, and succeeded in a measure.