he would
say nothing. When she reflected on what had taken place between
herself and Captain Aylmer she was more resolved than ever that she
would not touch any portion of that money,--or of any money that
should come from him. Nor would she tell her father anything of the
marriage engagement which had been made on one day and unmade on the
next. Why should she add to his distress by showing him what good
things might have been hers had she only had the wit to keep them?
No;--she would tell her father simply of the will, and then comfort
him in his affliction as best she might.

As regarded her position with Captain Aylmer, the more she thought of
it the more sure she became that everything was over in that quarter.
She had, indeed, told him that such need not necessarily be the
case,--but this she had done in her desire at the moment to mitigate
the apparent authoritativeness of her own decision, rather than with
any idea of leaving the matter open for further consideration. She
was sure that Captain Aylmer would be glad of a means of escape,
and that he would not again place himself in the jeopardy which the
promise exacted from him by his aunt had made so nearly fatal to him.
And for herself, though she still loved the man,--so loved him that
she lay back in the corner of her carriage weeping behind her veil
as she thought of what she had lost,--still she would not take him,
though he should again press his suit upon her with all the ardour
at his command. No, indeed. No man should ever be made to regard her
as a burden imposed upon him by an extorted promise! What;--let a
man sacrifice himself to a sense of duty on her behalf! And then she
repeated the odious words to herself, till she came to think that it
had fallen from his lips and not from her own.

In writing to her father from Perivale, she had merely told him of
Mrs. Winterfield's death and of her own intended return. At the
Taunton station she met the well-known old fly and the well-known
old driver, and was taken home in the accustomed manner. As she
drew nearer to Belton the sense of her distress became stronger and
stronger, till at last she almost feared to meet her father. What
could she say to him when he should repeat to her, as he would be
sure to do, his lamentation as to her future poverty?

On arriving at the house she learned that he was up-stairs in his
bedroom. He had been ill, the servant said, and though he was not now
in bed, he had not