Fleda was motionless and almost breathless with uncertainty. If Charlton could be hindered from meeting Mr. Thorn but how could Mr. Carleton effect it? But there was that in him or in his manner, which invariably created confidence in his ability, or fear of it, even in strangers; and how much more in her who had a childish but very clear recollection of several points in his character which confirmed the feeling. And might not something be done, through his means, to facilitate her uncle's escape? of whom she seemed to herself now the betrayer. But to tell him the story! a person of his high nice notions of character what a distance it would put even between his friendship and her but that thought was banished instantly, with one glance at Mr. Thorn's imputation of ungenerousness. To sacrifice herself to him would not have been generosity to lower herself in the esteem of a different character, she felt, called for it. There was time even then, too, for one swift thought of the needlessness and bitter fruits of wrong-doing. But here they were should she make them known, and trouble Mr. Carleton, friend though he were, with these miserable matters in which he had no concern? She sat with a beating heart and a very troubled brow, but a brow as easy to read as a child's. It was the trouble of anxious questioning. Mr. Carleton watched it for a little while undecided as ever, and more pained.
"You said you trusted me," he said quietly, taking her hand again.
"But I don't know what you could do, Mr. Carleton," Fleda said, with a trembling voice.
"Will you let me be the judge of that?"
"I cannot bear to trouble you with these miserable things "
"You cannot," said he, with that same quiet tone, "but by thinking and saying so. I can have no greater pleasure than to take pains for you."
Fleda heard these words precisely, and with the same simplicity as a child would have heard them, and answered with a very frank burst of tears soon, as soon as possible, according to her custom, driven back, though even in the act of quieting herself, they broke forth again as uncontrollably as at first. But Mr. Carleton had not long to wait. She raised her head again after a short struggle, with the wonted look of patience sitting upon her brow, and wiping away her tears, paused merely for breath and voice. He was perfectly silent.
"Mr. Carleton, I will tell you," she began; "I hardly know whether I ought or ought not" and her hand went to her forehead for a moment "but I cannot think to-night and I have not a friend to apply to"
She hesitated; and then went on, with a voice that trembled and quavered sadly.
"Mr. Thorn has a secret of my uncle's in his power which he promised without conditions to keep faithfully; and now insists that he will not but upon conditions"