The marvel was that this long strain of doubt and dread should not have driven Joan more readily to take refuge in prayer. For she had been brought up in a very atmosphere of prayer and of loving trust; yet still she held aloof.
It came over her suddenly one day that suspense might be ended by an interview with old Mr. Brooke.
She had not thought of such a thing before: but now the idea gained fast hold of her imagination. Mr. Brooke was probably staying at the red-brick house again. Why should she not see him there, and demand to know what he had said to trouble her father?
Why should she not, or why should she? Would the step be advisable, or would it not? Should she act, or should she wait patiently?
Joan was sorely troubled how to decide. She lay awake at night, thinking, and went about all day, thinking. It was hard to see her way. Sometimes the waiting seemed the wiser plan, but a certain wilful longing to know the worst was gaining ground upon her.
So strong was this desire that it led her into action. Joan felt almost as if she were being borne along by a strong current, irrespective of her own will.
She did not tell herself that she would see Mr. Brooke; but one day she spoke of taking a walk alone, and no difficulties arose. At starting she counted herself still undecided, yet without hesitation she bent her steps towards the red house of Mrs. St. John.
“I may as well walk in that direction. No need to go in,” murmured Joan.
But she did go in. Having moved so far under impulse, she was guided still by impulse when the house was reached. Joan rang, and asked for Mr. Brooke. He was staying there, was he not?
“Yes, Miss,” the girl answered.