Aline was sick at heart, there was no one in whom she could confide and she was utterly lonely and miserable. She thought of telling Cousin Richard, but she was rather afraid even of him; and then too, although Mistress Mowbray was unjust, she felt that she had no right to take the law into her own hands.
She lay on her bed in a paroxysm of grief,—“Oh, I wish and I wish that I had not done it,” she exclaimed again and again, and it was long before she felt equal to facing Mistress Mowbray once more.
When she came down to rere-supper, Mistress Mowbray was waiting. Master Richard had not arrived. “What do you mean, you dishonest child, by going out? I hate a child I cannot trust,” she said in freezing tones.
“I have not been dishonourable, Mistress Mowbray. I never said that I would not go out. I was disobedient and I am sorry, but if Father was alive, he would not have liked me to be kept in doors; and I do not think Cousin Richard would approve,” she added with some boldness, as she knew it was really unjust and had no one to defend her.
At that moment Master Mowbray entered. “What is this, about ‘Cousin Richard’?” he exclaimed.
Aline was silent and Mistress Mowbray looked confused. After a pause, as he was obviously waiting for an explanation, Aline said,—“An it please you, Cousin Richard, Mistress Mowbray and I do not agree, that is all, it is nothing.”
“I insist on knowing,” said Master Mowbray.
“I forbade Aline to go out,” said his wife, “and she not only flatly disobeyed me, but she questioneth my authority.”
“Is that so, Aline?” he asked, looking very surprised.