“Come out,” said the farmer, as Rhoda entered to him.  When they were in the garden, he commanded her to read and tell him the meaning of it.  The letter was addressed to Dahlia Fleming.

“It’s for my sister,” Rhoda murmured, in anger, but more in fear.

She was sternly bidden to read, and she read,—­

Dahlia,—­There is mercy for us.  You are not lost to me.

“Edward.”

After this, was appended in a feminine hand:—­

“There is really hope.  A few hours will tell us.  But keep firm.  If he comes near you, keep from him.  You are not his.  Run, hide, go anywhere, if you have reason to think he is near.  I dare not write what it is we expect.  Yesterday I told you to hope; to-day I can say, believe that you will be saved.  You are not lost.  Everything depends on your firmness.

“Margaret L.”

Rhoda lifted up her eyes.

The farmer seized the letter, and laid his finger on the first signature.

“Is that the christian name of my girl’s seducer?”

He did not wait for an answer, but turned and went into the breakfast-table, when he ordered a tray with breakfast for Dahlia to betaken up to her bed-room; and that done, he himself turned the key of the door, and secured her.  Mute woe was on Mrs. Sumfit’s face at all these strange doings, but none heeded her, and she smothered her lamentations.  The farmer spoke nothing either of Robert or of Anthony.  He sat in his chair till the dinner hour, without book or pipe, without occupation for eyes or hands; silent, but acute in his hearing.

The afternoon brought relief to Rhoda’s apprehensions.  A messenger ran up to the farm bearing a pencilled note to her from Robert, which said that he, in company with her uncle, was holding Sedgett at a distance by force of arm, and that there was no fear.  Rhoda kissed the words, hurrying away to the fields for a few minutes to thank and bless and dream of him who had said that there was no fear.  She knew that Dahlia was unconscious of her imprisonment, and had less compunction in counting the minutes of her absence.  The sun spread in yellow and fell in red before she thought of returning, so sweet it had become to her to let her mind dwell with Robert; and she was half a stranger to the mournfulness of the house when she set her steps homeward.  But when she lifted the latch of the gate, a sensation, prompted by some unwitting self-accusal, struck her with alarm.  She passed into the room, and beheld her father, and Mrs. Sumfit, who was sitting rolling, with her apron over her head.

The man Sedgett was between them.

CHAPTER XLVI

No sooner had Rhoda appeared than her father held up the key of Dahlia’s bed-room, and said, “Unlock your sister, and fetch her down to her husband.”

Mechanically Rhoda took the key.

“And leave our door open,” he added.