“Down to the hotel, sir.”
“That will do.”
Father glanced at daughter as soon as they were alone, when Rhoda left her seat and laid her hands upon his shoulder.
“I don’t feel well, dear,” she said. “I shall go up to my room. Don’t expect to see me again to-day, father, and don’t be uneasy. You are right, dear,” she said, with her voice trembling for a moment; then, flinging her arms round his neck, she kissed him passionately.
Mr Penwynn held her to his breast, and returned her kisses.
“It is very, very hard to bear, father. Oh, don’t—don’t you think we may be mistaken?”
“No,” he said sternly; “I do not.”
Rhoda heaved a bitter sigh, and then drew herself up, but bent down and kissed him once more.
“I’m your daughter, dear,” she said, with a piteous smile; “but I’m going to be very brave. I shall be too proud to show every thing I feel.”
She left the study and went up to her chamber, where she stood gazing from the window at the sunlit sea and glorious view of many-tinted rocks around the bay; but she could only see one thing now, and that was her broken idol as he had lain upon the floor below, and uttered the words, still burning in her ears, full of pity for “poor little Madge.”