As for Nell, when she had reached the sanctuary of her own room, her thoughts were not of this extraordinary engagement to marry--so suddenly and unexpectedly entered into, and with all men in the world, Jack Portland--she did not think of the sacrifice she was about to make, and for her rival, Lady Ilfracombe. No, her whole mind was bent on solving one question, the only thing which affected her in the whole transaction--did Lord Ilfracombe really love his wife, as Mr Portland said he did? What incomprehensible animals women are! She loved this man with her whole soul. She desired his happiness and welfare above all earthly things. She had been ready to throw her life away when she heard he had deserted her. She was ready now, for his sake, and to save the honour of his name, to take upon herself a marriage the very thought of which she loathed and abhorred; but she could not bear the idea that he was happier in his love for his wife than he had been with her, that he had forgotten, in fact, the days which they had spent together, or was glad that they were gone. Her inward cry still was, ‘Tell me you love me best of all the world, and the other woman can have your title and your money.’ To hear Jack Portland expatiating on the earl’s infatuation for his countess had been the bitterest thing Nell had yet been called upon to bear--the motive which had made her consent, against her will, to become his wife. But yet she did not quite believe it. She recalled Ilfracombe’s affectionate words of the evening before, his pleasure at meeting her again, his regret that he had not done the right thing by her years before, and was resolved to know the truth for herself before she finally sealed her fate by consenting to Mr Portland’s proposal. As she cogitated thus, all in a cold tremble and flutter, Nell came to the desperate resolve to seek an interview with the earl, and tell him of this proposal, and ask his advice whether she should marry or not. Then she should see, she said to herself, by his look, his manner, his sorrow or his joy, if he loved her still. But he would not let her marry, she felt certain of that, and smiled as she thought of it; but then the letters, those fatal letters, what would become of him and the countess if she declined? She sat by the window until it was time to dress herself anew without being able to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. CHAPTER VII. When she descended to the parlour her father and mother were already seated at the breakfast-table. To her courteous ‘good-morning’ they vouchsafed no reply. They were evidently still displeased with her for her rebellion of the night before. Nell went up to the farmer’s side and laid her hand on his.