On the way home, however, his father overthrew such hopes, and made him aware of the true state of the case,—­namely, that this was but the lull before another attack, which, whether it came within weeks or days, would probably be the last.

‘Does Mary know?’

‘She does.  She bears up nobly.’

‘And what is to become of her?’

The Earl sighed deeply.  ’Lima is her destiny.  Her mother is bent on it, and says that she wishes it herself; but on one thing I am resolved:  she shall not go alone!  I have told her mother that I will go with her, and not leave her without seeing what kind of home that man has for her.  Mary—­the mother, I mean—­persists in declaring that he has real affection for his child, and that her presence will save him.’

‘If anything could—­’ broke out Louis.

’It should! it ought; but I do not trust him.  I know Robert Ponsonby as his wife has never chosen to know him.  This was not a time for disguise, and I told her plainly what I thought of risking her daughter out there.  But she called it Mary’s duty—­said that he was fully to be trusted where his child was concerned, and that Mary was no stranger at Lima, but could take care of herself, and had many friends besides Oliver Dynevor there.  But I told her that go with her I would!’

‘You to take the voyage!  Was not she glad?’

’I think she was relieved; but she was over-grateful and distressed, and entreating me to be patient with him.  She need not fear.  I never was a hasty man; and I shall only remember that she bears his name, and that he is Mary’s father—­provided always that it is fit Mary should remain with him.  Miserable!  I can understand that death may well come as a friend—­But her daughter!’ he exclaimed, giving way more than he might have done anywhere but in the dark; ’how can she endure to leave her to such a father—­to such prospects!’

‘She knows it is not only to such a father that she leaves her,’ murmured Louis.

‘Her words—­almost her words,’ said the Earl, between earnestness and impatience; ’but when these things come to pressing realities, it is past me how such sayings are a consolation.’

‘Not if they were no more than sayings.’

There was silence.  Louis heard an occasional groaning sigh from his father, and sat still, with feelings strongly moved, and impelled to one of his sudden and impetuous resolutions.

The next morning, he ordered his horse, saying he would bring the last report from the Terrace.

That afternoon, Mrs. Ponsonby observed a tremulousneas in Mary’s hand, and a willingness to keep her face turned away; and, on more minute glances, a swelling of the eyelids was detected.

‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby, ’you should take a walk to-day.  Pray go out with the Conways.’

‘Oh no, thank you, mamma.’

’If the cousins come in from Ormersfield, I shall tell Louis to take you to look at his farm.  It would be very good for you—­My dear, what is it?’ for Mary’s ears and neck, all that she could see, were crimson.