"If I had never seen him! If I had not loved him so dearly!" was the burden of her heart's wail; "or if I had only died down there before I saw the locket or heard the woman's story!"
She had fought Death hard enough a little while ago, now she would have welcomed him.
She rose at last, and went slowly and draggingly towards Portmaris. Her dress was still heavy with the salt water, she was weak with physical and mental weariness, and the two miles across the moor were surely the longest that ever woman journeyed.
When she reached the villa and entered the parlor, she found her father pacing up and down in the dusk before his easel.
He looked up, but fortunately for her, did not see her white weary face, or notice how she held the door as if to support herself.
"Where have you been, Leslie?" he asked in a kind of irritable excitement. "I have been wanting you. Mr. Temple has sent the notes for the picture, the fifty pounds."
She leant against the door, and drew a long breath as she thought of this added humiliation.
"He is going to-morrow, it seems, and wished to—er—pay for the picture before he left. His departure is rather sudden, I think, but I fancy he is erratic in his movements. I want you to send him a receipt, and—er—to ask him to allow the picture to be exhibited."
"Yes; to-morrow, papa," she said faintly.
"Why not to-night?" he asked testily.