“I don’t think I understand,” said Effie, striving to speak. “I think I must have lost my senses or my hearing, or something. What was it you were saying? They say people call things by wrong names sometimes, and can’t help it. Perhaps they hear wrong, too. What is it that you mean?” “You know perfectly well what I mean,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, with some exasperation; “I have just written breaking off your marriage--is that plain enough? I’ve done it under your father’s orders. It was he that accepted and I’m thinking it’s he that has a right to refuse--It’s all broken off--I cannot speak any plainer. Now, do you understand what I say?” Effie had grown very pale--she shivered as if with cold--her lips quivered when she began to speak. “And that is,” she said, “because he has failed--because he is not a good match now, but a poor man--is that what it is?” “If you like to put it in that broad way. Of course he is not in a condition to marry any longer. It is the kindest thing we can do----” “Give me your letter,” said Effie, holding out her hand. There was something threatening, something dangerous, about the girl, which made Mrs. Ogilvie scream out. “My letter! I am not in the habit of showing my letters to anybody but your father. And even if I was disposed to show it I cannot, for I’ve just been to the post and put it in with my own hand. And by this time it is stamped and in the bag to go away. So you must take my description of it. I will be very happy to tell you all I have said.” “You have just been to the post to put it in!” Effie repeated the words, her eyes growing larger every moment, her face more ghastly. Then she gave a strange cry like a wounded creature, and turned and flew back towards the village neither pausing nor looking behind her, without a word more. Mrs. Ogilvie stood for a time, her own heart beating a little faster than usual, and a choking sensation in her throat. “Effie, Effie!” she cried after her--but Effie took no notice. She went along through the dim air like a flying shadow, and soon was out of sight, taking no time either for breath or thought. Where had she gone? wherever she went, what could she do? It was for her good; all through it had been for her good. If she mistook at first, yet after she must come round. Effie had fled in the opposite direction to Allonby. Where was she going? what could she do? Mrs. Ogilvie made a rapid glance at the possibilities and decided that there was really nothing which the girl could do. She drew a long breath to relieve the oppression which in spite of herself had seized upon her, the sudden panic and alarm. What could Effie do?--just nothing! She would run and tell her Uncle John, but though the minister was a man full of crotchets he was still more or less a man of sense, and he had never been very keen on the match. He would speak to her sensibly and she would see it when he said it, though not when Mrs. Ogilvie said it: and she would come home.