“That was a mistake,” she panted; “but this time I am sure.”
“I will not listen,” he cried. “Loose my wrist, woman.”
“You shall listen,” she cried. “Richard Linnell, the post-horses are ordered, and Claire Denville leaves her home to-night with—”
He did not hear the rest, for he had reached the shop, and hurried away, nearly overturning Annie, as she came in to find her aunt in tears.
“Oh, auntie, what is the matter?” she cried.
“Look here,” whispered Miss Clode, “are you sure there was no mistake in what you told me to-day?”
“Quite sure, aunt dear. Jane Moggridge told me that there were post-horses ordered for Major Rockley, and for Sir Harry Payne, and for Sir Matthew Bray.”
“That will do,” said Miss Clode quickly. “Now go right away.”
Annie looked wider-eyed and rounder-faced than ever in her disappointment as she obeyed her aunt, while Miss Clode stood with her hands clasped to her side, gazing straight before her.
“Have I done right?” she said to herself; “have I done wrong? It maddens me to see him so deceived—so blind. It was my duty to awaken him from his miserable infatuation, but suppose mischief should come after it?”