For the first time, Violet now became distinctly conscious that she loved Marmaduke. His fearlessness, manliness, and frankness had early captivated her,—to say nothing of his handsome person. Increased intimacy had shown her, as she thought, a heart and mind every way worthy of her love. But a certain mistrust—perhaps a recollection of her inclination towards Cecil, perhaps a vague sense of imperfect sympathy with Marmaduke—had kept her more reserved than was her wont; and this reserve was attributed to haughtiness. The chance of losing him, however, awakened her to a conviction of what the loss would be.
Day dawned; and with the dawn Julius set out for London. Marmaduke followed, at about nine o'clock. At eleven, Rose and Violet called in the carriage at the Grange.
"Mrs. St. John is gone to Walton," said the butler.
"Is Mr. Julius at home?"
"Mr. Julius is gone to London."
"To London?"
"Yes, miss; he went early this morning."
Rose sank back in the carriage, too overcome to weep.
"Is Mr. Ashley within?" asked Violet.
"He's also gone to London, miss."