To have him near her, to give her orders that she might obey them, was the consolation that she coveted,--the only consolation that could have availed anything to her.
To lean against him, and to whisper to him, with face averted, with half-formed syllables, some fervent words that might convey to him a truth which might be almost a joy to her if he would make it so,--was the one thing that could restore hope to her bosom.

Let him come and be near to her, so that she might hide her face upon his breast.

But he came not.

He did not come, though, as best she knew how, she had thrown all her heart into her letters.

Then her spirit sank within her, and she sickened, and as her mother knelt over her, she allowed her secret to fall from her.
Fred Neville's sitting-room at Ennis was not a chamber prepared for the reception of ladies.