An thou be not, hang, beg, starve, die i’ the streets,
Nor what is mine shall ever do thee good,
Trust to it, bethink you! I’ll not be forsworn!
—Shakspere.
Sinclair! Sinclair! Where in the world was he? Where had he been so many days? Why did he not come? Alice could have given the world to have seen him.
She did not know that he had been forbidden the house. She was totally ignorant of everything that had passed between her father and himself. She walked wildly about the house and grounds, instinctively avoiding her feeble mother’s room, lest in her present distracted state she should kill her with agitation; afraid of meeting her father, and doubly afraid of encountering General Garnet, and wishing and praying—oh! praying, as if for dear life, that she might meet Sinclair.
One afternoon she wrote a wild letter to him, illegible and unintelligible every way except in this—that he must “come to Mount Calm immediately.” She sent the letter off, and walked up and down her chamber, trying to get calm enough to go and see her mother. While thus employed a message reached her from her mother, desiring her to come to her room. Alice went immediately. As she entered the dark chamber Mrs. Chester called her up to the side of her bed; she saw that her mother’s countenance had changed fearfully since the morning, and now a new terror and remorse seized her heart; she was about to speak, when Mrs. Chester said:
“Alice, you look frightfully pale and haggard, my dear child. Alice, we were foiled this morning. Your father has been here, and told me all about it—the projected marriage in a week, and all; but do not fear, my dear child, you shall not be sacrificed; it is not right. I have sent a message to Mr. Sinclair to come here this evening. He has not been here for some time, and when he comes I must have a talk with him.”
At this moment a servant entered the chamber, to whom Mrs. Chester turned, saying:
“Milly, mix a teaspoonful of ether with a little water, and hand it to Miss Alice. She is not well. You must take it, Alice, dear; you are really very ill, and it will compose your nerves.”