"You have an alternative still," said he.
"What is that?"
"You need not stay here."
"What! Run away from him--in fear?" said Hilda, scornfully. "Run away from this place before I even know for certain that he is coming? That, at least, I will not do."
"There is Pomeroy Court," hinted Gualtier.
"No. Chetwynde Castle is my only home. I live here, or--nowhere. If I have to encounter him, it shall be face to face, and here in this house--perhaps in this room. Had I seen this a month ago my decision might have been different, though I don't know even that; but now, under any circumstances, it is too late to go back, or to swerve by one hair's breadth from the path which I have laid down for myself. It is well that I have seen all this"--and she pointed to the newspaper--"for it has given me a new view of the man. I shall not be so likely to underrate him now; and being forewarned I will be forearmed."
"There is still the probability," said Gualtier, thoughtfully, "that he may not come to England."
"There is a possibility," said Hilda, "certainly; but it is not probable, after so decided an act performed by one in so important a position, that he will remain in India. For why should he remain there? What could possibly cause him to resign, except the fixed intention of coming home? No; there can not be the slightest doubt that he is coming home us as certain as the dawn of to-morrow. What I wonder at, however, is, that he should delay; I should have expected to hear of his arrival in London. Yet that can not be, for his name is not down at all; and if he had come, surely a name like his could not by any possibility be omitted. No, he can not have come just yet. But he will, no doubt, come in the next steamer."
"There is yet another chance," said Gualtier.
"What is that?"