She was indeed sorely perplexed by the course matters were taking, and although she would not acknowledge it, Lucette’s recital of Dauban’s warning had moved her considerably. It fitted closely with her own feelings in regard to giving herself to a man she had never seen. Her pride of place and family had alone induced her to think of accepting the husband whom her mother had chosen for her; but it was not in human nature to acquiesce without murmurs and qualms and doubts and hesitation. Moreover, the scene in the market place on the previous day had disturbed her profoundly, despite her stout assertion that the night’s reflection had restored her. Her couch had been the ground of a fierce battle between certain wild new-springing emotions and the set and sober thoughts of duty; and the fight had raged through the whole of a sleepless night. In vain she had told herself over and over again that the stranger cavalier was nothing to her and could be nothing; that it was treachery to her dead mother even to let a thought of him force itself upon her; that it was unworthy, unmaidenly, and cowardly to be moved by the remembrance that a man had looked kindly into her eyes and that she had faltered before his glance; and this at the very moment when he to whom she was betrothed was coming to her. She upbraided herself bitterly for her weakness, and rising from her couch had passed an hour or more on her knees in fervent prayer for strength to overcome the temptation which she found so alluring, and for power to subdue these new feelings as subtly sweet as they were strange and exciting. Her heart would not be denied, however, and despite her most resolute efforts the recollection of the strong handsome face, with the clear steadfast blue eyes would force itself back upon her again and again and yet again, despite her most earnest efforts. In the morning when her uncle told her that he had heard of the stranger’s presence at Beaucamp and had despatched Denys in search of him, she was conscious that her heart fluttered almost wildly for the moment, and she had been compelled to turn her face away lest some of the emotion might make itself evident there. “He must not think us thankless, uncle,” she had replied, calmly enough in tone; but in her heart she was driven to hope he would not be found and that never would she have to undergo the ordeal of meeting him face to face. What might then happen she did not dare to think. But all this emotion she had hidden from even the sharp eyes of her companion, so that, although for her own secret reasons she was as eagerly impatient as Lucette herself for Denys’ return, her secret was locked away under an outward demeanour as calm and self-possessed as usual.