Edith put her hands before her eyes and thought, or tried to think; for her ideas were still in sad confusion. "Leave me now, Caroline," she said; "but, remember, I expect that no part of any conversation you have overheard between me and my father, will ever be repeated."
"Oh dear, no, Miss Edith," replied the woman, "I would not on any account;" and she left the room.
We all know of what value are ordinary promises of secrecy, even in the best society, as it is called. Nine times out of ten, there is one dear friend to whom everything is revealed; and that dear friend has others; and at each remove, the bond of secrecy is weaker and more weak, till the whole world is made a hearer of the tale. Now Edith's maid was a very discreet person; and when she promised not to reveal what she had heard, she only proposed to herself, to tell it to one person in the world. Nor was that person her lover, or her friend, or her fellow-servant; nor was she moved by the spirit of gossip, but really and truly by a love for her young lady, which was great, and by a desire to serve her. Thus, she thought, as soon as she had shut the door, "I will tell it to Miss Zara, though; for it is but right that she should know how they are driving her sister to marry a man she hates, as well she may. Miss Zara is active and quick, and may find some means of helping her."
The maid had not been gone a minute, when she returned with the short note which Sir Robert Croyland had left; and as she handed it to her young mistress, she watched her countenance eagerly. But Edith took it, read it, and gazed upon the paper without a word.
"Pray, Miss Edith," said the maid, "are you likely to want me soon; for I wish to go up to the village for something?"
"No, Caroline--no," answered Edith, with an absent air; "I shall not want you;" and she remained standing with the paper in her hand, and her eyes fixed upon it.
The powers by which volition acts upon the mind, and in what volition really consists, are mysteries which have never yet, that I have seen, been explained. Yet certain it is, that there is something within us which, when the intellectual faculties seem, under the pressure of circumstances, to lose their functions, can by a great effort compel them to return to their duty, rally them, and array them, as it were, against the enemy by whom they have been routed. Edith Croyland made the effort, and succeeded. She had been taken by surprise, and overcome; but now she collected all the forces of her mind, and prepared to fight the battle over again. In a few minutes, she became calm, and applied herself to consider fully her own situation. There were filial duty and tenderness on one side--love and a strong vow on the other. "He has gone to tell Mr. Radford that I have consented," was her first distinct thought, "but his having mistaken me, must not make me give that consent when it is wrong. Were it myself alone, I would sacrifice all for him--I could but die--a few hours of misery are not much to bear--I have borne many. But I am bound--Good God! what an alternative!"
But I will not follow her thoughts: they can easily be conceived. She was left alone, with no one to counsel, with no one to aid her. The fatal secret she possessed was a bar to asking advice from any one. Buried in her own bosom, the causes of her conduct, the motives upon which she acted, must ever be secret, whatever course she pursued. Agony was on either hand. She had to choose between two terrible alternatives: on the one hand a breach of all her engagements, a few years, a few weeks, perhaps, of misery, and an early death--for such she knew must be her fate: and, on the other, a life, with love certainly to cheer it, but poisoned by the remembrance that she had sacrificed her father. Yet Edith now thought firmly, weighed, considered all.
She could come to no determination. Between two such gulfs, she shrank trembling from either.
The clock in the hall, with its clear, sharp bell, struck three; and the moment after, the quick sound of horses' feet was heard. "Can it be my father?" she thought. "No! he has not had time--unless he has doubted;" but while she asked herself the question, the horses stopped at the door, the bell rang; and she went on to say to herself, "perhaps it is Zara. That would be a comfort indeed, though I cannot tell her--I must not tell her all."