"You are very kind, Mattie, but—but I cannot own to anything. It is not fear, not shame—God knows what it is, or what I am, or what I really wish!" he exclaimed irritably.
"Leave it to me."
"No, for myself, my own battles. I will have no woman's interference, no friend's advice. I will go on to the end my own way."
"It is not ordered so. Look there—is this chance which has brought her hither to-day, at this hour?"
"Let me go away!" cried Sidney, starting to his feet.
Mattie, flushed and excited, caught him by the wrist; he could have wrested himself away from her grasp, but he would have hurt her in the effort, and a something in his own will held him spellbound there.
His sight was weak yet, and though he had guessed to whom Mattie alluded, he could but dimly distinguish a female figure advancing towards him, as from the mists of that past sphere of which he had spoken. It came towards him slowly, even falteringly at last; and he remained motionless, awaiting the end of all that might ensue on that strange day.
It was the past coming back to him, to make or mar him. He shivered as he thought of all the folly he had committed, if, after all, Mattie and Maurice were right, and even his own heart had misled him. He was a man whose judgment had been sound through life—why should he have erred so greatly in this instance?
"Mattie—Mattie!" gasped Harriet, on entering, "what does this mean?"
"That Sidney has been waiting for you," said Mattie, quickly, "to thank you for all past interest in him. Shake hands, you two, and let me—let me go away!"