sofa near him. The sisters drew back
horror-struck into the furthest corner of the room. His face turned them
cold. Through the mute misery which it had expressed at first, there
appeared, slowly forcing its way to view, a look of deadly vengeance
which froze them to the soul. They whispered feverishly one to the
other, without knowing what they were talking of, without hearing their
own voices. One of them said, "Ring the bell!" Another said, "Offer him
something, he will faint." The third shuddered, and repeated, over and
over again, "Why did we do it? Why did we do it?"

He silenced them on the instant by speaking on his side. He came on
slowly, by a step at a time, with the big drops of agony falling slowly
over his rugged face. He said, in a hoarse whisper, "Write me down the
name of the church--there." He held out his open pocketbook to Amelia
while he spoke. She steadied herself, and wrote the address. She tried
to say a word to soften him. The word died on her lips. There was a
light in his eyes as they looked at her which transfigured his face to
something superhuman and devilish. She turned away from him, shuddering.

He put the book back in his pocket, and passed his handkerchief over his
face. After a moment of indecision, he suddenly and swiftly stole out of
the room, as if he was afraid of their calling somebody in, and stopping
him. At the door he turned round for a moment, and said, "You will hear
how this ends. I wish you good-morning."

The door closed on him. Left by themselves, they began to realize it.
They thought of the consequences when his back was turned and it was too
late.

The Graybrookes! Now he knew it, what would become of the Graybrookes?
What would he do when he got back? Even at ordinary times--when he was
on his best behavior--he was a rough man. What would happen? Oh, good
God! what would happen when he and Natalie next stood face to face? It
was a lonely house--Natalie had told them about it--no neighbors near;
nobody by to interfere but the weak old father and the maiden aunt.
Something ought to be done. Some steps ought to be taken to warn them.
Advice--who could give advice? Who was the first person who ought to
be told of what had happened? Lady Winwood? No! even at that crisis the
sisters still shrank from their stepmother--still hated her with the old
hatred! Not a word to _her!_ They owed no duty to _her!_ Who else could
they appeal to? To their father? Yes! There was the