Half an hour and no more I gave myself. At its close, the battle was not fought out,—was scarcely indeed begun. I had not fought at all. I had only been swept along by a tornado of passion. And I think that the one thing which kept me from losing my balance, which restrained me from resolving on some wild or rash step of reprisal or escape, in that half-hour of fearful resentment, was the consciousness of my Father's pity,—the knowledge that He was looking down all the while tenderly on His poor racked child, and that He would help me, so soon as I could and would glance up to Him for help.
I thought He would not help me—yet! I thought I could not glance towards Him—yet! But I do think now that my very sense of His loving pity was even then a wordless prayer,—and that even then His Hand was holding me back.
For somehow at the half-hour's end, I could be outwardly calm. I washed my face, smoothed my hair, and noted curiously in the glass my unusual degree of pallor, and the strange expression in my eyes. I wondered if others would remark the latter; for I felt that I could not control it. Then I went downstairs to the drawing-room.
Elfie was awake. She showed no surprise at my absence, but seemed poorly and fretful, and would not talk. I saw signs of tears, and when I tried to comfort her, she turned fractiously away, hiding her face in the cushion. So I left her quiet, and sat down with work, resolving to make no mention at present of the telegram.
The walking-party returned earlier than I expected. I was determined that Miss Millington should see no change in my manner. Pride demanded this of me. But whether I was successful, I do not know. When she first came into the room, I had a sensation of being turned to ice. She may not have noted any difference, since, to my knowledge, she never looked at me once during the hour that we were all together. The resolute manner in which her eyes shunned mine was remarkable; for generally they seem to be everywhere. The walking-party had much to say about their ramble,—not to me, but one to another. I would not be left out of the conversation, and talked as much as anybody; but by the time tea was over, the strain had become almost more than I knew how to endure.
Thyrza, who had been very silent, found an opportunity to say to me, unheard by the rest—
"Are you tired, Miss Con?"
"Rather," I answered. "Would you mind sitting with Elfie for an hour, while I have a walk?"
"No, of course I will. I meant to ask if you wouldn't like some fresh air. But you will not go alone?"
"Quite alone," I said. The words sounded hard, and I tried to smile.