Her direct and honest nature could conceive of nothing less than this which could explain his conduct.

Restlessly her imagination fastened on this solution of the problem, and tortured her in vain efforts to decide what would be right under such circumstances.
The day was a long, hard one for Mercy.

The more she thought, conjectured, remembered, and anticipated, the deeper grew her perplexity.

All the joy which she had at first felt in the consciousness that Stephen loved her died away in the strain of these conflicting uncertainties: and it was a grave and almost stern look with which she met him that night, when, with an eager bearing, almost radiant, he entered her door.
He felt the change at once, and, stretching both his hands towards her, exclaimed,-- "Mercy, my dear, new, sweet friend! are you not well to-night ?" "Oh, yes, thank you.

I am very well," replied Mercy, in a tone very gentle, but with a shade of reserve in it.
Stephen's face fell.