Hinton dared not tell her that he had consulted the very best. He could only try to turn her attention, and in this he believed that he succeeded much better than he really did. For when the night came after those quiet evenings, Charlotte found that she could not sleep. Was it excitement at her coming happiness, or was it anxiety? Anxiety was new to this happy nature--new to this prosperous life. She shuddered at the grim thing, as it visited her night after night, in the solitude of her luxurious room. But shut her eyes to it, fight against it, as she would, it could not be got to depart from her. The fact was, a dreadful thing had happened to this frank and loving nature, she was beginning to suspect the father whom she loved. These suspicions had first come into play on the night when he had fainted in her presence. Some words he had used that night, some expressions which had fallen from his lips, had aroused a new and dreadful thought, that thought would not go to sleep, would not depart. Was it possible that her father had done something wrong long ago in his life, and that the remembrance of that wrong--that sin--was what ailed him now? Was it possible that her uncle Jasper, who always appeared so frank and open, had deceived her? Was it possible that Hinton knew that she was deceived? These thoughts did not trouble her much in the daytime, but at night they rose to agonies. They kept sleep far away: so much so, that in the morning she often came downstairs heavy-eyed and weary. She blamed herself, then, for her mean suspicions; she said to herself, as she gave her father his morning cup of coffee, that no face could be more incapable of concealing a wrong than that noble old face opposite to her, and she tried to atone for her feelings by extra tenderness of voice and manner. But though this revulsion of feeling came with the morning, the night brought back the same agony. She now disliked even to think of Mrs. Home, she never spoke of her to John Hinton. He watched for her to do so, but the name of this young woman which had so intensely interested her never passed her lips. When Hinton told her that little Harold was better, and that on a certain day he and his mother would be in Kentish Town once more, she colored slightly and changed the subject. Hinton rather wondered at this. Uncle Jasper also remarked it. It was now a week to the wedding-day, and Charlotte was nerving herself for an effort. She had firmly resolved that before she really gave herself to Hinton, she would read her grandfather's will. She felt that nothing else would completely set her mind at rest. She dreaded doing this as much as she longed for it. Each day as it dawned she had put off the task, but when the day just a week before her wedding came, she felt that she must overcome what she called a weakness. She would learn the worst that very day. She had little or no idea how to carry out her design.