She raised her thin hand and slapped him. Her two rings cut his cheek.
When the House was finally quiet and dark again, Rebekah alone was left. Stiff, solemn, slow, she searched the rooms, tried the doors, fastened the windows, marched with her candle up the back stairs into the heart of the house.
It had been a dull, uneventful Sunday. Nothing had occurred.
CHAPTER VII
ROCHE ST. MARY MOOR
Terror is a tall word; it should not, perhaps, be used, in this trivial history, in connection with the feelings and motives of so youthfully comfortable a character as Philip—nevertheless very nearly akin to terror itself was Philip’s emotion on discovering the results of his disgraceful encounter with Aunt Aggie ... because there were no results.
As he had watched Aunt Aggie trembling, silent, emotional, retreat (after striking Philip she had risen and, without a word, left the room), he had thought that the moment for all his cards to be placed dramatically upon the Trenchard table had at last come. Perhaps they would tell him that he must go; they would openly urge Katherine to abandon him, and then, faced, with force and violence, by the two alternatives, he was assured, absolutely assured, of her loyalty to himself. He saw her, protesting that she would love them all, reminded that (Philip being proved an abomination) she must now choose, finally going out into the world with Philip.
He went to his room that Sunday evening triumphant. No more Trenchard secrets and mysteries—thanks to that horrible old woman, the way was clear. He came down the next morning to breakfast expecting to be treated with chilly politeness, to be asked to interview George Trenchard in his study, to hear Trenchard say: “Well, my dear boy—I’m very sorry of course—but you must see with me that it’s better to break off ...” and then his reply.
“That, sir, must remain with Katherine. I am bound to her....” No, he had no fear of the result. As he came down the stairs on that Monday morning, a fine hot spring day, with the mist of the spring heat hazy above the shining grass, his eyes were lighter, his spirits higher than they had been since his first coming to Garth. He entered the dining-room, and thought that he had dreamt yesterday’s incidents.
Millie cried—“Hullo, Phil! Late as usual.”