"Lock her up! we'll soon hunt him out of this neighbourhood. Come out through this side-passage, my buggy's there; they must not know we heard them yet!"
CHAPTER XII.
Minnie returned home at a quick gallop. She felt as if pursued by some visionary being. Not once did she pause or look back, after the one gentle wave of her hand to Miles, who stood statue-like, watching her, beside the old ruin, as she passed. Even poor, old Thomas could not extract a word from her, she flew so quickly homewards. On alighting from "Jet," she hastened to her own room, and, throwing off the hat which bound her brows, sat down to think, and thus she sat some silent moments; then rising gently, as though she had held communing with some spirit, she crept quietly about, as she changed her riding-suit for her ordinary one. When this was accomplished, she opened her door, and stealing down the passage, rapped at her aunt Dorcas's room. "Come in," answered the quiet voice which ever fell soothingly on her ear, and Minnie was in an instant beside her. A few desultory remarks passed about her ride, where she had been, etc.; to these Minnie replied with evident constraint. Dorcas at last noticed her manner, and, looking up from a purse she was knitting, exclaimed, "My child, are you not well? Why do you seem so much oppressed?"
This was all the young heart required to unburthen itself. She flung her arms round her aunt's neck, and burst into tears. "Dear, dear aunt!" she sobbed; "forgive me—forgive Minnie—for deceiving you, though not for long, dear aunt."
"My child, what do you mean? Good heavens! what has occurred?" and she folded her arms around her.
"Aunt, I have wickedly deceived you," sobbed the girl still; "I—I——." She was unable to continue for her tears.
"Tell me, Minnie, my own dear child; I forgive you before knowing," exclaimed the gentle woman. "I am sure you exaggerate some slight fault; be calm, tell me all: what do you mean?"
For some moments Minnie could not summon courage to reply; then at last, by a supreme effort, she confessed her many accidental meetings with Miles Tremenhere at first, and this one by appointment.
"Dear Aunty," she whispered, "I know now how very wrong it has been; but I feared telling you, lest you should betray me to the others. And though I know you will be just, they would not perhaps, but by coercion, endeavour to force me to their wills; they have spoken of such things, and I couldn't bear that!"