Alice was satisfied.  The shadow lifted from her spirits.  Dr. Richards was not George Hastings.  He was not the villain she had feared, and ’Lina might have him now.  Poor ’Lina.  Alice felt almost as if she had done her a wrong by suspecting the doctor, and was very kind to her that day.  Poor ’Lina, we say it again, for hard, and wicked, and treacherous, and unfilial, as she had ever been, she had need for pity on this her wedding day.  Retribution, terrible and crushing, was at hand, hurrying on in the carriage bringing Anna Richards to Spring Bank, and on the fleet-footed steed bearing the convict swiftly up the Frankfort pike.

’Lina could not tell what ailed her.  Her hauteur of manner was all gone, and Mug, who had come into the room to see “the finery,” was not chidden or told to let them alone, while Densie, who, at Alice’s suggestion, brought her a glass of wine, was kindly thanked, and even asked to stay if she liked while the dressing went on.  But Densie did not care to, and she left the room just as the mud-bespattered vehicle containing Anna Richards drove up, Mr. Millbrook having purposely stopped in Versailles, thinking it better that Anna should go on alone.

It was Ellen of course, ’Lina said, and so the dressing continued, and she was all unsuspicious of the scene enacting below, in the room where Anna met her brother alone.  She had not given Hugh her name.  She simply asked for Dr. Richards, and conducting her into the parlor, hung with bridal decorations, Hugh went for the doctor, amusing himself on the back piazza with the sprightly Mug, who when asked if she were not sorry Miss ’Lina was going off, had naively answered: 

“No-o—­sir, ’case she done jaw so much, and pull my har.  I tell you, she’s a peeler.  Is you glad she’s gwine?”

The doctor was not quite certain, but answered:  “Yes, very glad,” just as Hugh announced “a lady who wished to see him.”

Mechanically the doctor took his way to the parlor, while Hugh resumed his seat by the window, where for the last hour he had watched for the coming of one who had said, “I will be there.”

Half an hour later, had he looked into the parlor, he would have seen a frightened, white-faced man crouching at Anna Richards’ side and whispering to her as if all life, all strength, all power to act for himself were gone: 

“What must I do?  Tell me what to do.”

This was a puzzle to Anna, and she replied by asking him another question.  “Do you love ’Lina Worthington?”

“I—­I—­no, I guess I don’t; but she’s rich, and—­”

With a motion of disgust Anna cut him short, saying:  “Don’t make me despise you more than I do.  Until your lips confessed it, I had faith that Lily was mistaken, that your marriage was honorable, at least, even if you tired of it afterward.  You are worse than I suppose and now you speak of money.  What shall you do?  Get up and not sit whining at my feet like a puppy.  Find Lily, of course, and if she will stoop to listen a second time to your suit, make her your wife, working to support her until your hands are blistered, if need be.”