And so the search was given up.  The two searchers left the house, apparently in close conversation.  Rachel sought her room and threw herself on a sofa, oppressed by doubts and fears which she could not very well explain.  The manner of Walter appeared to her not to be that of one who was pledged to marry her.  Her mind ran rapidly back over doubtful reminiscences which yielded no comfort to the heart; nay, she felt that he had never been as a lover to her; and far less that day when, as it appeared, he was to be master of his uncle’s wealth.  Yet again comes the thought, Was he pledged to her?  Ay, that was certain enough; and then she was so little versed in the subtle ways of the world, that she could not doubt of his being “true to his troth.”

As soon as she recovered from her meditation, she sought again the workroom of the artist, to whom she told the issue of the search for the will.  Paul looked at first greatly struck, but under his strange philosophy he recovered that calmness which belongs to those of his way of thinking.

“Have I not often preached to you, Rachel,” said he, as he lay back on his chair, “that all these things were fixed ere Sirius was born?  Yea,” he added, as a smile played amid the seriousness of his face, “ere yet there was a space for the dog-star to wag his tail.  The croppings out will now come thick, and you will know whether you are to be a lady or a beggar.”

Rachel might have known that the consolation offered by fatalists is only the recommendation of a resignation which, as fated itself, is gloomy, if not awful, for it amounts to an annihilation of self, with all hopes, energies, and resolutions.  She heard his words, and forgave him, if she did not believe him; for she knew that he was true in his friendship, and benevolent in his feelings—­parts these, too, as he would have said, of the decree.  She left him in a condition of sadness for which she could not yet account, and the hues of her mind seemed to be projected on all objects around her.  She retired to rest; but she could not banish from her mind that the realities of her condition required to be read by the blue light of Paul’s philosophy.  It was far in the morning before she fell asleep; and when nine came she felt unrested.  The servant came in to her and told her the hour.  The breakfast was ready; but Walter, who had not returned on the prior night, was not as usual waiting for her.  The announcement was ominously in harmony with the thoughts she had tried to banish.  She scarcely touched the breakfast, and the day passed in expectation of Walter.  Night came, but it did not bring him.  The next day passed in the same way.  People called to condole without knowing how much she stood in need of condolence; but still no Walter came to redeem the pledge of his love.  Yet still she hoped; nor till an entire month had gone over her head did she renounce her confidence that he would be “true to his troth.”