me idea;
it has been seen how it fared with her.

By the Blent the drama seemed very considerately to be waiting for him.
It says much for Major Duplay that his utter and humiliating defeat by
the Pool had not driven him into any hasty action or shaken him in his
original purpose. He was abiding by the offer which he had made,
although the offer had been scornfully rejected. If he could by any
means avoid it, he was determined not to move while Lady Tristram lived.
Harry might force him to act sooner; that rested with Harry, not with
him. Meanwhile he declined to explain even to Mina what had occurred by
the Pool, and treated her open incredulity as to Harry's explanation
with silence or a snub. The Major was not happy at this time; yet his
unhappiness was nothing to the deep woe, and indeed terror, which had
settled on Mina Zabriska. She had guessed enough to see that, for the
moment at least, Harry had succeeded in handling Duplay so roughly as to
delay, if not to thwart, his operations; what would he not do to her,
whom he must know to be the original cause of the trouble? She used to
stand on the terrace at Merrion and wonder about this; and she dared not
go to Fairholme lest she should encounter Harry. She made many good
resolutions for the future, but there was no comfort in the present
days.

The resolutions went for nothing, even in the moment in which they were
made. She had suffered for meddling; that was bad: it was worse to the
Imp not to meddle; inactivity was the one thing unendurable.

She too, like old Mr Neeld in London town, was drawn by the interest of
the position, by the need of seeing how Harry Tristram fought his fight.
For four days she resisted; on the evening of the fifth, after dinner,
while the Major dozed, she came out on the terrace in a cloak and looked
down the hill. It was rather dark, and Blent Hall loomed dimly in the
valley below. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, and began
to descend the hill: she had no special purpose; she wanted a nearer
look at Blent, and it was a fine night for a stroll. She came to the
road, crossed it after a momentary hesitation, and stood by the gate of
the little foot-bridge, which, in the days before enmity arose, Harry
Tristram had told her was never locked. It was not now. Mina advanced to
the middle of the bridge and leant on the parapet, her eyes set on
Blent Hall. There were lights in the lower windows; one window on the
upper floor w