She ceased crying at last, and slowly crept upstairs, glad to meet no one, and that not even Josephine was there to see her red eyes. Her muslin frock was on the bed, and she managed to dress herself, and run down again unseen; she stood over the fire, so that the housemaid, who brought in her tea, should not see her face; and by the time she had to go to the drawing-room, the mottling of her face had abated under the influence of a story-book, which always drove troubles away for the time.
It was a very quiet evening. Aunt Barbara read bits out of the newspaper, and there was a little talk over them: and Kate read on in her book, to hinder herself from feeling uncomfortable. Now and then Aunt Jane said a few soft words about “Giles and Emily;” but her sister always led away from the subject, afraid of her exciting herself, and getting anxious.
And if Kate had been observing, she would have heard in the weary sound of Aunt Barbara’s voice, and seen in those heavy eyelids, that the troubles of the day had brought on a severe headache, and that there was at least one person suffering more than even the young ill-used countess.
And when bed-time came, she learnt more of the “consequences of her actions.” Stiff Mrs. Bartley stood there with her candle.
“Where is Josephine?”
“She is gone away, my Lady.”
Kate asked no more, but shivered and trembled all over. She recollected that in telling the truth she had justified herself, and at Josephine’s expense. She knew Josephine would call it a blackness—a treason. What would become of the poor bright merry Frenchwoman? Should she never see her again? And all because she had not had the firmness to be obedient! Oh, loss of trust! loss of confidence! disobedience! How wicked this place made her! and would there be any end to it?
And all night she was haunted through her dreams with the Lord Chancellor, in his wig, trying to catch her, and stuff her into the woolsack, and Uncle Wardour’s voice always just out of reach. If she could only get to him!
CHAPTER XI.
The young countess was not easily broken down. If she was ever so miserable for one hour, she was ready to be amused the next; and though when left to herself she felt very desolate in the present, and much afraid of the future, the least enlivenment brightened her up again into more than her usual spirits. Even an entertaining bit in the history that she was reading would give her so much amusement that she would forget her disgrace in making remarks and asking questions, till Lady Barbara gravely bade her not waste time, and decided that she had no feeling.