Rhoda was unaware that Robert, who rarely looked at her, and never sought to speak a word to her when by chance they met and were alone, studied each change in her face, and read its signs.  He was left to his own interpretation of them, but the signs he knew accurately.  He knew that her pride had sunk, and that her heart was desolate.  He believed that she had discovered her sister’s misery.

One day a letter arrived that gave her no joyful colouring, though it sent colour to her cheeks.  She opened it, evidently not knowing the handwriting; her eyes ran down the lines hurriedly.  After a time she went upstairs for her bonnet.

At the stile leading into that lane where Robert had previously seen her, she was stopped by him.

“No farther,” was all that he said, and he was one who could have interdicted men from advancing.

“Why may I not go by you?” said Rhoda, with a woman’s affected humbleness.

Robert joined his hands.  “You go no farther, Miss Rhoda, unless you take me with you.”

“I shall not do that, Mr. Robert.”

“Then you had better return home.”

“Will you let me know what reasons you have for behaving in this manner to me?”

“I’ll let you know by-and-by,” said Robert.  “At present, You’ll let the stronger of the two have his way.”

He had always been so meek and gentle and inoffensive, that her contempt had enjoyed free play, and had never risen to anger; but violent anger now surged against him, and she cried, “Do you dare to touch me?” trying to force her passage by.

Robert caught her softly by the wrist.  There stood at the same time a full-statured strength of will in his eyes, under which her own fainted.

“Go back,” he said; and she turned that he might not see her tears of irritation and shame.  He was treating her as a child; but it was to herself alone that she could defend herself.  She marvelled that when she thought of an outspoken complaint against him, her conscience gave her no support.

“Is there no freedom for a woman at all in this world?” Rhoda framed the bitter question.

Rhoda went back as she had come.  Algernon Blancove did the same.  Between them stood Robert, thinking, “Now I have made that girl hate me for life.”

It was in November that a letter, dated from London, reached the farm, quickening Rhoda’s blood anew.  “I am alive,” said Dahlia; and she said little more, except that she was waiting to see her sister, and bade her urgently to travel up alone.  Her father consented to her doing so.  After a consultation with Robert, however, he determined to accompany her.

“She can’t object to see me too,” said the farmer; and Rhoda answered “No.”  But her face was bronze to Robert when they took their departure.

CHAPTER X

Old Anthony was expecting them in London.  It was now winter, and the season for theatres; so, to show his brother-in-law the fun of a theatre was one part of his projected hospitality, if Mr. Fleming should haply take the hint that he must pay for himself.