CHAPTER XXIX.
A THORNY ROSE.
“There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,
Roughhew them how we will.”—Shakespeare.
“Your aunt is an invalid, I regret to say,” Mr. Tredick remarked as they drove rapidly through the streets, “and we must not come upon her too suddenly with this good news. I shall have to ask you, Miss Farnese, to take a seat in the parlor below while I seek a private interview with her in her boudoir.”
Our heroine bowed in acquiescence, and he went on:
“It will not take long to break the matter to her, and you are not likely to be kept waiting many minutes.”
“Please do not concern yourself about that,” she said; “I should prefer to be kept waiting for hours rather than run the slightest risk of injury to the only relative I am certain of possessing in all the world.”
The girl seemed composed—the lawyer thought her so, and rather wondered at such an amount of self-control in one so young—but inwardly she was full of agitation and excitement.
Her lonely heart yearned for the love and companionship of kindred, yet dreaded to find in this unknown relative one who might prove wholly uncongenial and even repulsive. She remembered that she was not yet of age, and was about to place herself under authority of which she knew nothing. There might be conflict of tastes and opinions on very vital subjects. Yet she had no thought of drawing back. She had weighed the matter carefully, viewed it in all its aspects, had decided that this was her wisest and best course, and was ready to pursue it unfalteringly to the end.
So wholly absorbed in these thoughts and emotions was she that she took no note of the direction in which they were moving, nor what streets they traversed.