ething also for her. That
view of the case she did not take into consideration for a moment. Nay,
she did not think of it. But that Pippo should be Lord Lomond went
through her like an arrow--like an arrow that gave a wound, acute and
sharp, yet no pain, if such a thing could be said. That he should
discover his father had been the danger before her all his life, but if
he must find out that he had a father that was a way in which it might
not be all pain. I do not pretend that she was very clear in all these
thoughts. Indeed, she was not clear at all. John Tatham, knowing but one
side, had begun to think vaguely of Elinor what Elinor thought of her
mother, that her mind was not quite as of old, not so bright nor so
vivid, not so clear in coming to a conclusion; had he known everything
he might not have been so sure even on that point. But then had he known
everything that Elinor knew, and been aware of what it was which Elinor
had been summoned by all the force of old fidelity and the honour of
her name to do, John would have been too much horrified to have been
able to form an opinion. No, poor Elinor was not at all clear in her
thoughts--less clear than ever after these revelations--the way before
her seemed dark in whatever way she looked at it, complications were
round her on every side. She had instinctively, without a word said,
given up that idea of flight. Who was it that said the heir to a peerage
could not be hid? John had said it, she remembered, and John was always
right. If she was to take him away to the uttermost end of the earth,
they would seek him out and find him. And then there was--his father,
who had known all the time, had known and never disturbed her----No
wonder that poor Elinor's thoughts were mixed and complicated. She
walked up and down the room, not thinking, but letting crowds and
flights of thoughts like birds fly through her mind; no longer clear
indeed as she had been wont to be, no longer coming to sudden, sharp
conclusions, admitting possibilities of which Elinor once upon a time
would never have thought.

And day by day as he saw her, John Tatham understood her less and less.
He did not know what she meant, what she was going to do, what were her
sentiments towards her husband, what were her intentions towards her
son. He had found out a great deal about the case, merely as a case, and
it began to be clear to him where Elinor's part came in. Elinor Compton
could not have appeared on