Monro's ordering; and as the
latter took up a book, and showed a set purpose of remaining with her
patient, Ellinor was compelled to lie still, and presently fell asleep.

She awakened late in the afternoon with a start. Her father was standing
over her, listening to Miss Monro's account of her indisposition. She
only caught one glimpse of his strangely altered countenance, and hid her
head in the cushions--hid it from memory, not from him. For in an
instant she must have conjectured the interpretation he was likely to put
upon her shrinking action, and she had turned towards him, and had thrown
her arms round his neck, and was kissing his cold, passive face. Then
she fell back. But all this time their sad eyes never met--they dreaded
the look of recollection that must be in each other's gaze.

"There, my dear!" said Miss Monro. "Now you must lie still till I fetch
you a little broth. You are better now, are not you?"

"You need not go for the broth, Miss Monro," said Mr. Wilkins, ringing
the bell. "Fletcher can surely bring it." He dreaded the being left
alone with his daughter--nor did she fear it less. She heard the strange
alteration in her father's voice, hard and hoarse, as if it was an effort
to speak. The physical signs of his suffering cut her to the heart; and
yet she wondered how it was that they could both be alive, or, if alive,
they were not rending their garments and crying aloud. Mr. Wilkins
seemed to have lost the power of careless action and speech, it is true.
He wished to leave the room now his anxiety about his daughter was
relieved, but hardly knew how to set about it. He was obliged to think
about the veriest trifle, in order that by an effort of reason he might
understand how he should have spoken or acted if he had been free from
blood-guiltiness. Ellinor understood all by intuition. But henceforward
the unspoken comprehension of each other's hidden motions made their
mutual presence a burdensome anxiety to each. Miss Monro was a relief;
they were glad of her as a third person, unconscious of the secret which
constrained them. This afternoon her unconsciousness gave present pain,
although on after reflection each found in her speeches a cause of
rejoicing.

"And Mr. Dunster, Mr. Wilkins, has he come home yet?"

A moment's pause, in which Mr. Wilkins pumped the words out of his husky
throat:

"I have not heard. I have been riding. I went on business to Mr.
Estcourt's. Pe