Oh, I've hurt him--hurt him! And yet, dear God, thou knowest I could not help it." Maddened with the pain of it all she sprang up, determined to go to him and tell him everything.

To throw herself into his arms and beg forgiveness for her cruelty and crave the protection of his strength.
Then her gaze fell upon her father's portrait! The cold, steadfast eyes were looking down upon her as if they could read her very soul.

"No! No!" she sobbed, putting her hands over her eyes as if to shut out some spectre she had not the courage to face.

"It must not be--it CANNOT be," and she sank back exhausted.
When the paroxysm was over she rose to her feet, dried her eyes, smoothed her hair with both hands, and then, with lips tight pressed and faltering steps, walked upstairs to where Martha was getting Lucy's things ready for the coming journey.

Crossing the room, she stood with her elbows on the mantel, her cheeks tight pressed between her palms, her eyes on the embers.