Fate was before her, and she rebelled against it; the whole truth—hard and cruel—she could not believe in. "It's not true!" her white lips murmured; "it's false, as he is! He has heard from Sidney all that Sidney purposes, and is alarmed for the honour of his family. I see it all now—a plot against me!" But "was it true?" sounded in her ears like a far-off echo, from which she could not escape.
It was a desperate struggle, and she was fighting that silent intense battle still when her father returned. Hours ago she had prayed that he might come back soon, and end that weary watch there—suffer her to escape to her own room, and lock the door upon that world upon which the mists were stealing. But when he returned, she did not go away from him; a horror of being alone and giving way like a child kept her at her post there, answering, and inwardly defying, all suspicious questions.
"You're very white, Mattie? Has anything happened?" asked her father.
"Sidney's cousin has been here. Sidney is well and hopeful."
"Good hearing!—he will be back in the midst of us before we know where we are. Mattie, I'm sure you have a headache?"
"A little one—nothing to complain about."
"Why don't you go for a walk?—it's not very late. What a time it is since you have seen Mr. Wesden!"
"I will go there."
Mattie sprang to her feet.
"Yes, I will go—at once."