She had obeyed him in everything, allowing him to scold her as though she were already subject to his rule; and, to speak the truth, she had enjoyed such treatment, obtaining from it a certain assurance that she was already his own.

She had loved him entirely, had trusted him altogether, had been prepared to bear all that the world could fling upon her for his sake, wanting nothing in return but that he should know that she was true to him.
This he had not known, nor had he been able to understand such truth.
It had not been possible to him to know it.

The inborn suspicion of his nature had broken out in opposition to his love, forcing her to acknowledge to herself that she had been wrong in loving a Jew.

He had been unable not to suspect her of some vile scheme by which she might possibly cheat him of his property, if at the last moment she should not become his wife.

She told herself that she understood it all now-- that she could see into his mind, dark and gloomy as were its recesses.
She had wasted all her heart upon a man who had never even believed in her; and would she not be revenged upon him?
Yes, she would be revenged, and she would cure the malady of her own love by the only possible remedy within her reach.
The statue of St John Nepomucene is a single figure, standing in melancholy weeping posture on the balustrade of the bridge, without any of that ponderous strength of wide-spread stone which belongs to the other groups.