“Your present conduct is no guarantee for future prudence!”
“Dear uncle—” she began; but he stopped her hastily, and said:
“It is useless to recal our relationship when you have dissolved its ties.”
“Oh, Sir, do not cast me off because I am unhappy.”
“Here is your home, Kate,” said he, coldly. “Whenever you leave it, it is of your own free will, not of mine. Go now, if you wish, but remember, you go at your peril.”
She darted a fierce look at him as he uttered the last word, as though it had pierced her like a dart, and for a moment she seemed as if her temper could no longer be kept under; but with an effort she conquered, and simply saying, “I accept the peril, Sir,” she turned and left the room.
She gave her orders to the crew of the launch to get ready at once, and sent down to the boat her little basket; and then, while Molly Ryan was absent, she packed her trunk with whatever she possessed, and prepared to leave Arran, if it might be, for ever. Her tears ran fast as she bent over her task, and they relieved her overwrought mind, for she was racked and torn by a conflict—a hard conflict—in which different hopes, and fears, and ambitions warred, and struggled for the mastery.
“Here is the hour of destitution—the long dreaded hour come at last, and it finds me less prepared to brave it than I thought for. By this time to-morrow the sun will not shine on one more friendless than myself. I used to fancy with what courage I could meet this fall, and even dare it. Where is all my bravery now?”
“‘Tis blowin’ harder, Miss Kate; and Tim Hennesy says it’s only the beginnin’ of it, and that he’s not easy at all about taking you out in such weather.”
“Tell Tim Hennesy, that if I hear any more of his fears I’ll not take him. Let them carry that trunk down, Molly; I shall be away some days, and those things there are for you.”