Miles, miles, miles away from Greshamsbury!  There was something in the sound that fell very cold on Mary’s ears, unhappy as she was.  Greshamsbury had been so dear to her; in spite of all that had passed, was still so dear to her!  Was she prepared to take up her staff, as her uncle said, and walk forth from the place with the full understanding that she was to return to it no more; with a mind resolved that there should be an inseparable gulf between her and its inhabitants?  Such she knew was the proposed nature of the walking away of which her uncle spoke.  So she sat there, resting on her arms, and gave no answer to the question that had been put to her.

‘No, we will stay here a while yet,’ said her uncle.  ’It may come to that, but this is not the time.  For one season longer let us face—­I will not say our enemies; I cannot call anybody my enemy who bears the name of Gresham.’  And then he went on for a moment with his breakfast.  ‘So Frank will be here on the twelfth?’

‘Yes, uncle.’

’Well, dearest, I have no questions to ask you; no directions to give.  I know how good you are, and how prudent; I am anxious only for your happiness; not at all—­’

‘Happiness, uncle, is out of the question.’

’I hope not.  It is never out of the question, never can be out of the question.  But, as I was saying, I am quite satisfied your conduct will be good, and, therefore, I have no questions to ask.  We will remain here; and, whether good or evil come, we will not be ashamed to show our faces.’

She sat for a while again silent; collecting her courage on the subject that was nearest her heart.  She would have given the world that he should ask her questions; but she could not bid him to do so; and she found it impossible to talk openly to him about Frank unless he did so.  ‘Will he come here?’ at last she said, in a low-toned voice.

‘Who?  He, Louis?  Yes, I think that in all probability he will.’

‘No; but Frank,’ she said, in a still lower voice.

’Ah! my darling, that I cannot tell; but will it be well that he should come here?’

‘I do not know,’ she said.  ’No, I suppose not.  But, uncle, I don’t think he will come.’

She was now sitting on a sofa, away from the table, and he got up sat down beside her, and took her hands in his.  ‘Mary,’ said he, ’you must be strong now; strong to endure, not to attack.  I think that you have that strength; but, if not, perhaps it will be better that we should go away.’

‘I will be strong,’ said she, rising up and going towards the door.  ’Never mind me, uncle; don’t follow me; I will be strong.  It will be base, cowardly, mean to run away; very base in me to make you do so.’

‘No, dearest, not so; it will be the same to me.’

‘No,’ said she, ’I will not run away from Lady Arabella.  And, as for him—­if he loves this other one, he shall hear no reproach from me.  Uncle, I will be strong;’ and running back to him, she threw her arms around him and kissed him.  And, still restraining her tears, she got safely to her bedroom.  In what way she may there have shown her strength, it would not be well for us to inquire.