It was possible, he thought, that his uncle might not persevere in his purpose, and it was probable that Anna herself would be the first to object to a precipitated wedding, and would insist that the programme should be followed, and that the full year of mourning for his mother should elapse before Alexander should claim her hand.
There yet remained nearly eight months to the end of this probation. In this time, how much, he reflected, might happen to deliver him from his disagreeable dilemma.
Drusilla might die.
He felt a pang of shame and sorrow as this idea entered his mind. Yet still he entertained it. Drusilla was now declining in health, and she might die. And in such a case he should be free from the trammels of his reckless marriage, and from the necessity of making the humiliating confession that he had ever worn them.
Agitated by these evil thoughts, he rode rapidly onward towards Cedarwood.
As he entered the private road leading through the dark wood he saw the beacon lights of his home in the drawing-room windows, shining out to guide him on his way.
“She is waiting for me, poor child,” he said, half in compassion, half in contempt. “Still waiting and watching as she has been doing no doubt, for the last three nights—the last three nights! Ah! and how many nights behind them! Poor little miserable! I wish I had never seen her!”
So muttering to himself Alexander rode around to the stable and put up his horse, and then walked back to the house and knocked at the front door.
It did not fly open as usual at his summons, so he knocked again, louder than before; but there was no response.
Then he sounded an alarm upon the knocker, and waited for the result.