“They have such pretty manners to us over here.  Edward says they think less of women:  I say they think more.  But I feel he must be right.  Oh, my dear, cold, loving, innocent sister! put out your arms; I shall feel them round me, and kiss you, kiss you for ever!”

Onward from city to city, like a radiation of light from the old farm-house, where so little of it was, Dahlia continued her journey; and then, without a warning, with only a word to say that she neared Rome, the letters ceased.  A chord snapped in Rhoda’s bosom.  While she was hearing from her sister almost weekly, her confidence was buoyed on a summer sea.  In the silence it fell upon a dread.  She had no answer in her mind for her father’s unspoken dissatisfaction, and she had to conceal her cruel anxiety.  There was an interval of two months:  a blank fell charged with apprehension that was like the humming of a toneless wind before storm; worse than the storm, for any human thing to bear.

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.