A week passed in this manner, before Octavia Black came again to Neva’s room. But what a change in her that week had wrought! She had grown thin, and her features were worn to sharpness. A red flush burned fitfully on her cheeks, and her hard black eyes were strangely glittering. She had lost many of the graces that had distinguished her, and looked what she was—a bold, unscrupulous, unprincipled woman. Neva could not particularize in what her charm of person and manner had lain, but those charms were now gone. She looked ten years older than her age, and coughed like a consumptive.
“What have you to say to-day, Neva?” asked Octavia, in a hoarse voice.
“Nothing,” said Neva calmly.
“You have put us to a terrible trouble; you have given me a horrible cold and cough; and yet you sit here as obstinate as if you were a princess and we were your subjects. Will nothing subdue your proud spirit? Will nothing bend your haughty will? Do you like bread and water and close confinement so well that you prefer them to a marriage with a handsome young man who adores you?”
“I prefer them to perjuring myself, madam,” said Neva bravely. “I prefer a brief imprisonment to a lifetime of sorrow and repining.”
“A brief imprisonment!” repeated Octavia. “It won’t be so brief as you think. We are going to remain here all winter, if necessary to subdue you. We have entered on a path from which there is no turning back. The winters, I am told, are fearful in these wild Highlands. We shall soon be shut in with snows and awful winds. Your lover can never trace you here, and if he could he would not be able to reach the Wilderness in the dead of winter. We shall have a dismal winter—you especially. What do you say, Neva?” and her tone grew anxious. “Will you yield?”
“Never!” said Neva quietly. “I am no child to be frightened by cold, and I am not so fond of the pleasures of the table as to sell my soul for them. I will live here till I die of old age before I will yield!”
Octavia Black’s face darkened with an awful shadow. She dreaded the terrible Highland winter; and a strange terror, for which she could not account, held possession of her soul night and day. But, as she had said, she had entered on a path from which there was no turning back. Neva must yield, sooner or later, she said to herself, even if compelled to yield through physical weakness.
“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Black, arising. “We will make preparations to spend the winter here. Craven will go to Inverness in the yacht one day this week, and purchase stores for our use during the cold season. We need blankets, and food of every description. If you should decide to go to Inverness with him, as the promised bride of Rufus Black, you have only to let me know before he sails.”
She went out and locked the door, giving the key to Celeste, who waited in the outer room.