Yet there was one thought of comfort:  Cuthbert was not far away.  Since her father had openly accused her of vileness, deceit, and treachery; since he had struck her down so cruelly, and had not even come to see her in her helplessness and weakness, must not Cuthbert’s surmise be the true one—­must he not surely be mad?  She could see by the old woman’s cowering looks if the door moved on its hinges, how much she feared the terrible master; and when Petronella was sufficiently recovered to be able to enter into the kind of conversation by means of signals which in some sort resembled the finger talking of more modern times, she learned that indeed her father was in a more black and terrible mood than ever before, and that old Martha herself went in fear of her life.

Bit by bit the old woman made the girl understand what had happened.  Shortly after the day upon which she had found her young mistress lying cold and insensible on the stone floor of the hall, Philip Trevlyn had come to the Gate House, and had demanded an interview with the owner.  Right well did both the women know the nature of that errand, though none had been present but the young lover and the enraged father.  There could be no manner of doubt but that, incited to it by Cuthbert’s tale, he had come to make a definite offer of marriage, and doubtless had tried to bribe the avaricious old man by some tempting offer of gold or land.  But whatever had been the terms in which the proposal was couched, anger had proved a stronger passion with Nicholas than greed.  Philip had been driven from the house with a fury that threatened actual violence, and for hours afterwards Nicholas had raged up and down the house like a wild beast in a cage.  He had once gone up to his daughter’s room with a face so full of fury that the old woman had feared he meant to fall upon her then and there; but even he had been calmed by a glance at the still, unconscious face upon the pillow, so white and bloodless and death-like; and the man had gone down with a quieter footfall than he had mounted, but had been brooding in sullen fury ever since, so that the old servant had feared to approach him even to bring him his needful food.  She had spent almost all her time up with her young mistress, afraid to leave her by night or day lest some mischance should befall her.

All this the girl gradually understood as she became strong enough to take in the silent talk of the old woman.  She knew that she must have lain some days in this state of unconsciousness, for the trees were greener than they had been when she had seen them last, and the sunlight was fast gaining its golden summer-like glow.  There was something exhilarating in the beauty and richness of reviving nature, and even Petronella’s wan cheek kindled into a flush of pleasure as she looked forth once again upon the fair world around her dismal home.