Suppose that her duty condemned her to stay in England on guard over Chillon’s treasure!  The perpetual struggle with a weak young nobleman of aimless tempers and rightabout changes, pretending to the part of husband, would, she foresaw, raise another figure of duty, enchaining a weak young woman.  The world supported his pretension; and her passion to serve as Chillon’s comrade sank at a damping because it was flame.  Chillon had done that; Lady Arpington, to some extent; Henrietta more.  A little incident, pointing in no direction, had left a shadow of a cloud, consequent upon Lady Arpington’s mention of Henrietta’s unprotectedness.  Stepping up the hill to meet her sister, on the morning of Henrietta’s departure for London under the convoy of Mr. Wythan, Carinthia’s long sight spied Kit Ines, or a man like him, in the meadow between Lekkatts and Croridge.  He stood before Henrietta, and vanished light-legged at a gesture.  Henrietta was descending to take her leave of her busied husband; her cheeks were flushed; she would not speak of the fellow, except to reply, ‘oh, a beggar,’ and kept asking whether she ought not to stay at Stoneridge.  And if she did she would lose the last of the Opera in London!  How could she help to investigate the cause of an explosion so considerate to them?  She sang snatches of melodies, clung to her husband, protested her inability to leave him, and went, appearing torn away.  As well bid healthy children lie abed on a bright summer morning, as think of holding this fair young woman bound to the circle of safety when she has her view of pleasure sparkling like the shore-sea mermaid’s mirror.

Suspicions were not of the brood Carinthia’s bosom harboured.  Suspicion of Chillon’s wife Carinthia could not feel.  An uncaptained vessel in the winds on high seas was imagined without a picturing of it.  The apparition of Ives, if it was he, would not fit with any conjecture.  She sent a warning to Madge, and at the same time named the girl’s wedding day for her; pained in doing it.  She had given the dear girl her word that she would be present at this of all marriages.  But a day or two days or more would have to be spent away from Chillon; and her hunger for every hour beside her brother confessed to the war going on within her, as to which was her holier duty, the one on the line of her inclinations, or that one pointing to luxury-choice between a battle-horse and a cushioned-chair; between companionship with her glorious brother facing death, and submission to a weak young nobleman claiming his husband’s rights over her.  She had submitted, had forgotten his icy strangeness, had thought him love; and hers was a breast for love, it was owned by the sobbing rise of her breast at the thought.  And she might submit again—­in honour? scorning the husband?  Chillon scorned him.  Yet Chillon left the decision to her, specified his excuses.  And Henrietta and Owain, Lady Arpington, Gower Woodseer, all the world—­Carinthia shuddered at the world’s blank eye on what it directs for the acquiescence of the woman.  That shred of herself she would become, she felt herself becoming it when the view of her career beside her brother waned.  The dead Rebecca living in her heart was the only soul among her friends whose voice was her own against the world’s.