“I can understand the shock you have had,” she continued, looking at the girl, who now sat with her head slightly drooping, her hands clasped tightly together, her attitude one of absolute despair.
“Linda,” she said, turning to her daughter, “fetch Nora a glass of wine. I noticed, my dear, that you ate scarcely any supper.”
Nora did not speak.
Linda returned with a glass of claret.
“Now drink this off, Nora,” said her aunt; “I insist.”
Nora was about to refuse, but she suddenly changed her mind.
“I shall go whether she gives me leave or not,” was her inward thought. “I shall want strength.” She drank off the wine, and returned the empty glass to her cousin.
“There now, that is better,” said Mrs. Hartrick; “and as you are unaccustomed to wine you will doubtless sleep soundly after it. Go up to your bedroom, dear. I will telegraph the first thing in the morning to O'Shanaghgan, and if there is the slightest cause for alarm will promise to take you there immediately. Be content with my promise; be patient, be brave, I beg of you, Nora. But, believe me, your uncle knows best when he says you are not to go.”
“Thank you, Aunt Grace,” said Nora in a low voice. She did not glance at Linda. She turned and left the room.