Mrs. Cumberland, as she spoke, happened to look at Ellen, and was struck by her expression. Her face was pale as death; her eyes had a sort of wild fear, the lips trembled. "My dear child, you surely did not take what I said in earnest! I spoke in jest. Captain Bohun is not a man to behave dishonourably; you may quite rely upon that. Had he come into a dukedom, you would still be made his duchess." "I think I will go to bed, if you don't mind my leaving you," said Ellen, faintly. "My head aches." "I think you had better, then. But you have tormented yourself into that headache, Ellen." To bed! It was a mere figure of speech. Ellen sat up in her room, knowing that neither bed nor sleep could bring her ease--for her dreams the past two nights had been worse than reality. She watched for hours the tossing sea; it had never properly calmed down since the storm. The morning brought a letter from Captain Bohun. To Mrs. Cumberland; not to Ellen. Or, rather a note, for it was not long enough to be called a letter. It stated that urgent circumstances had prevented his returning to Eastsea--and he would write further shortly. He added that he was very unwell, and begged to be remembered to Miss Adair. To Miss Adair! The very formality of the message told its tale. Something was wrong: it was evident even to Mrs. Cumberland. The letter was short, constrained, abrupt; and she turned it about in haughty wonder. "What can the man mean? _This_ is not the way to write when things are at their present crisis. Here the ring and licence are waiting; here the clergyman is holding himself in readiness from day to day; here you are fretting your heart out, Ellen, and he writes such a note as this! But for being his own handwriting, I know what I should think." "What?" asked Ellen, hastily. "Why, that he is worse than he says. Delirious. Out of his senses." "No, no; it is not that." "I think if it is not, it ought to he," sharply retorted Mrs. Cumberland. "We must wait for his next letter, I suppose; there is nothing else to be done." And they waited. And the weary days dragged their slow length along.