why? Because
she had made herself so pleasing to him, he could not, in spite of all
his efforts, help testifying a state of feeling his judgment did not
approve nor his will sanction. He was about to withdraw decidedly from
intimate communication with her, because he did not choose to have his
affections inextricably entangled, nor to be drawn, despite his reason,
into a marriage he believed imprudent. Now, what was she to do? To give
way to her feelings, or to vanquish them? To pursue him, or to turn
upon herself? If she is weak, she will try the first expedient--will
lose his esteem and win his aversion; if she has sense, she will be her
own governor, and resolve to subdue and bring under guidance the
disturbed realm of her emotions. She will determine to look on life
steadily, as it is; to begin to learn its severe truths seriously, and
to study its knotty problems closely, conscientiously.

It appeared she had a little sense, for she quitted Robert quietly,
without complaint or question, without the alteration of a muscle or the
shedding of a tear, betook herself to her studies under Hortense as
usual, and at dinner-time went home without lingering.

When she had dined, and found herself in the rectory drawing-room alone,
having left her uncle over his temperate glass of port wine, the
difficulty that occurred to and embarrassed her was, "How am I to get
through this day?"

Last night she had hoped it would be spent as yesterday was, that the
evening would be again passed with happiness and Robert. She had learned
her mistake this morning; and yet she could not settle down, convinced
that no chance would occur to recall her to Hollow's Cottage, or to
bring Moore again into her society.

He had walked up after tea more than once to pass an hour with her
uncle. The door-bell had rung, his voice had been heard in the passage
just at twilight, when she little expected such a pleasure; and this had
happened twice after he had treated her with peculiar reserve; and
though he rarely talked to her in her uncle's presence, he had looked at
her relentingly as he sat opposite her work-table during his stay. The
few words he had spoken to her were comforting; his manner on bidding
her good-night was genial. Now, he might come this evening, said False
Hope. She almost knew it was False Hope which breathed the whisper, and
yet she listened.

She tried to read--her thoughts wandered; she tried to sew--every stitch
she put in