How could she have parted with him so calmly, and led him to suppose that their former relations were unaltered?  She looked back on the forced quietude of her manner, and was herself astonished.  Now her heart was beating rapidly; her trembling fingers were unconsciously twisting and untwisting a bit of ribbon; her head seemed giddy with the recollection of that brief and strange interview, Then, somehow, she thought of the look on his face when she told him that henceforth they must be strangers to each other.  It seemed hard that he should be badly used for what was perhaps no intentional fault.  If anybody had been in fault, it was herself in being blind to a possibility to which even her own sister had drawn her attention; and so the punishment ought to fall on her.

She would humble herself before Mr. Roscorla.  She would force herself to be affectionate toward him in her letters.  She would even write to Mabyn, and beg of her to take no notice of that angry remonstrance.

Then Wenna thought of her mother, and how she ought to tell her of all these things.  But how could she?  During the past day or two Mrs. Rosewarne had been at times singularly fretful and anxious.  No letter had come from her husband.  In vain did Wenna remind her that men were more careless of such small matters than women, and that it was too soon to expect her father to sit down and write.  Mrs. Rosewarne sat brooding over her husband’s silence; then she would get up in an excited fashion and declare her intention of going straight back to Eglosilyan; and these fitful moods prayed on the health of the invalid.  Ought Wenna to risk increasing her anxiety by telling her this strange tale?  She would doubtless misunderstand it.  She might be angry with Harry Trelyon.  She would certainly be surprised that Wenna had given him permission to see her again—­not knowing that the girl, in her forced composure, had been talking to him as if this avowal of his were of no great moment.

All the same, Wenna had a secret fear that she had been imprudent in giving him this permission; and the most she could do now was to make his visits as few, short and ceremonious as possible.  She would avoid him by every means in her power; and the first thing was to make sure that he should not call on them again while they remained in Penzance.

So she went down to the small parlor in a much more equable frame of mind, though her heart was still throbbing in an unusual way.  The moment she entered the room she saw that something had occurred to disturb her mother.  Mrs. Rosewarne turned from the window, and there was an excited look in her eyes.  “Wenna,” she said hurriedly, “did you see that carriage?  Did you see that woman?  Who was with her?  Did you see who was with her?  I know it was she:  not if I live a hundred years could I forget that—­that devil in human shape!”

“Mother, I don’t know what you mean,” Wenna said, wholly aghast.