at week was near now, for it was the twelfth of April. In another
eight days the wedding morning would dawn.

Charlotte was very busy. What young woman is not busy at such a time?
Friends poured in, presents arrived at all hours. There were dressmakers
and milliners to see and consult, from morning to night. Then Hinton
took up some of his bride-elect's time, and the evening hours were given
to her father. Seeing how much he liked having her all to himself after
dinner each night, Charlotte had begged her lover not to come to see her
at this particular time.

"You will have me for all the rest of my life, John," she would say,
"and I think it does my father good to be quite alone with me. It
reminds him of old times." Then, when Hinton acceded to her request, she
often added, "My father puzzles me. Is it the parting from me makes him
look so ill and sad? I often fear that there is more the matter with him
than he lets appear. I wish he would consult a good doctor."

Hinton dared not tell her that he had consulted the very best. He could
only try to turn her attention, and in this he believed that he
succeeded much better than he really did. For when the night came after
those quiet evenings, Charlotte found that she could not sleep. Was it
excitement at her coming happiness, or was it anxiety?

Anxiety was new to this happy nature--new to this prosperous life. She
shuddered at the grim thing, as it visited her night after night, in the
solitude of her luxurious room. But shut her eyes to it, fight against
it, as she would, it could not be got to depart from her. The fact was,
a dreadful thing had happened to this frank and loving nature, she was
beginning to suspect the father whom she loved. These suspicions had
first come into play on the night when he had fainted in her presence.
Some words he had used that night, some expressions which had fallen
from his lips, had aroused a new and dreadful thought, that thought
would not go to sleep, would not depart. Was it possible that her father
had done something wrong long ago in his life, and that the remembrance
of that wrong--that sin--was what ailed him now? Was it possible that
her uncle Jasper, who always appeared so frank and open, had deceived
her? Was it possible that Hinton knew that she was deceived? These
thoughts did not trouble her much in the daytime, but at night they rose
to agonies. They kept sleep far away: so much so, that in the morning
she often came