She was silent again and busy. Then all at once she stopped and walked to the window. Her hands grasped the sash and she stood looking out at the sky that had not gathered a cloud from all this darkness of her life. At length she began to walk up and down as if every footstep took her away from the house. "I always thought it must be a dreadful thing to marry a man you did not want," she said speaking out her thoughts as if alone; "but to marry a man who does not want you,--that is the most terrible thing in the world. I have done both." And she covered her face with her hands. "Poor girl," answered Mrs. Eveleigh, "it _is_ hard. But you gave him as good as he sent, that's a fact. Governor Wentworth spoke about it after you left." Elizabeth had raised her head and was looking steadily at her companion. "When young Archdale looked at you as he passed out, I mean," she went on. "'Great Heavens!' cried the Governor, 'did you see that exchange of looks, scorn and hatred on both sides, and they may be husband and wife? The Lord pity them. And poor Katie!'" "He said that?" "Exactly that. Why, everybody noticed it, of course. What did you say?" she added at a faint sound from her listener. "Nothing." And Elizabeth said nothing until ten minutes later when the sound of wheels sent her to the window to see that a conveyance at least fairly comfortable had been found for them. Her bonnet and wraps were already on. "Are you coming?" she said to the other abruptly. "I shall start in five minutes." "For Heaven's sake, more time, my dear. I have not changed my dress yet. I suppose I cannot let you go alone, I should not feel happy about it, and your father would never forgive me in the world." A half smile of contempt touched the girl's lips. Mrs. Eveleigh knew what was for her own comfort too well to get herself out of Mr. Royal's good graces, and not to be devoted to his daughter would have been to him the unpardonable sin. But nobody would have been more astonished than this same lady to be told that she had not a thoroughly conscientious care of Elizabeth. She combined duty and interest as skilfully as the most Cromwellian old Presbyter among her ancestors. In the hall Elizabeth met her hostess. "May I speak to Katie?" she asked timidly. Mrs. Archdale hesitated a moment, nodded in silence and went on to the library, the girl following. Mr. Archdale was there, and the Colonel and his wife. Stephen sat by the great chair in which Katie was propped, holding her hand and sometimes speaking softly to her, or looking into her face with eyes that gave no comfort. Elizabeth seemed to see no one but her friend, she went up to the chair, and said to her softly, pleadingly, "Good by, Katie." But Katie turned away her head. The door closed, Elizabeth had gone. CHAPTER IX. FORECASTINGS.