Lady Helen opened her letter, turned a little white, and flung it across the table to father.
"There!" she said. "What are we to do now?"
Father took up the letter and read it slowly. His face did not look exactly white, but a very peculiar mottled sort of colour spread slowly over his cheeks, and his eyes became fierce and wild. As a rule, he was quick and eager in his movements, but now he rose up deliberately, stamped his foot, and crossing the room, put the letter into a small fire which was burning in the grate.
"Gordon, why have you done that?" said Lady Helen.
"Because your brother will not enter this house," was his reply.
"Ah, poor fellow!" she exclaimed. "And am I never to see him? I must see him—I will! Child, go out of the room."
"No, child, you are to stay here," said my father. He swept his arm round my waist, and drew me down to sit close to him. I could feel that he was trembling all over. Lady Helen got up.
"Heather, I wish you to leave the room."
"Darling father, come to me presently to my own room," I whispered. "Do, please—what—mother wishes—now."
I brought out the words with an effort.