"Go where you please," returned Florence, "say and do what you please; I shall be only too glad to think that I shall never see your face again. I always hated you, Enid Vane; from the time that you were a child I hated you, as I hated your mother before you. Some day you will perhaps know why."
"I don't want to know. I have always felt that you hated me," said Enid, the hot color receding from her cheeks. She was one of those people on whom the consciousness of being disliked produces a chilling effect. "But I never hated you; I do not hate you now. Oh, Flossy, is there no way of setting things straight without letting anybody know?"
Florence sneered at the almost child-like appeal.
"For myself," she said, "I have a resource which will not fail me even if you do your worst. Do you think that I would ever live to bear public disgrace? Not for twenty-four hours! Remember this, Enid Vane—the day when the whole story, as we know it, comes to light will be my last. If you betray me, you will be my murderess. You will have killed me as truly as ever—as ever a cruel assassin killed your father Sydney Vane!"
With a gesture of her arm, as if to keep the girl from touching her, she swept towards the open door. Enid did not attempt to stop her. A sensation of awe, of affright even, seized her as she watched the white figure gliding steadily along the passage until the darkness hid it from her view. Then she sank down on the bed once more, trembling and afraid. The desperate boldness which had for a long time possessed her was succeeded by a reaction of horror and dismay. How could she hide herself from Flossy's hate—how save herself from Flossy's sure revenge?
As she thought of these things, she knew by certain well-marked symptoms that one of her old attacks of almost cataleptic stupor was coming upon her. In the old days she would have succumbed to it at once. But Evandale's words rang in her ears. What had he said? He thought that she might control herself—that she might prevent these nervous seizures from overcoming her. She sat up, and by a violent effort roused herself a little. Then she tried the experiment of walking across the room to the open window, where the fresh air revived her. A glass of water, a few turns across the room, and, quite suddenly, she was once more mistress of herself. She had conquered the feeling of faintness—conquered the terrible rigidity of limb which used to attack her at these times. The Rector's words had proved the tonic that her weakened nerves seemed to require. For the first time in her life she was a conqueror. There was no reason why she should not conquer again and again until her nerves recovered their tone and the fatal tendency was overcome.
New strength came to her with this consciousness. She lighted a lamp and donned a dressing-gown; then, after a little deliberation, she went to Parker's room. She found the maid up and partially dressed. There was a scared look on the woman's face which caused Enid to suspect that her conversation with Mrs. Vane had been partially if not altogether overheard. But this Enid resolved not to seem to know.
"Parker," she said quietly, "I am thinking of going to London. Will you come with me?"
"Yes, miss, that I will—to the end of the world if you like!" was the unexpectedly fervent response.
But Enid showed no surprise.