Mrs. Blencarrow said nothing; she stood with a still resistance in her look--a woman whom nothing could overcome, broken down by circumstances, by trouble, ready to grasp at any expedient; yet unsubdued, and unconvinced that she could not struggle against Fate. ‘I can say nothing else,’ the Vicar repeated, ‘for there is nothing else to say; and perhaps you would prefer that I should go. I can be of no comfort to you, for there is nothing that can be done till this is done--not from my point of view. I can only urge this upon you; I can say nothing different.’ Again Mrs. Blencarrow made no reply. She stood so near him that he could see the heaving of strong passion in all her frame, restrained by her power of self-command, yet beyond that power to conceal. Perhaps she could not speak more; at least, she did not. Mr. Germaine sat between the two, both silent, absorbed in this all-engrossing question, till he could bear it no longer. He rose abruptly to his feet. ‘May God give you the power to do right!’ he said; ‘I can say no more.’ Mrs. Blencarrow followed him to the door. She opened it for him, and stood outside on the threshold in the moonlight to see him go. ‘At least,’ she said, ‘you will keep my secret; I may trust you with that.’ ‘I will say nothing,’ he replied, ‘except to yourself; but think of what I have said.’ ‘Think! If thinking would do any good!’ She gave him her hand, in all the veins of which the blood was coursing like a strong stream, and then she closed the door behind him and locked it. During all this time the man within had never stirred. Would he move? Would he speak? Or could he speak and move? When she went back---- CHAPTER IX. ‘I AM HER HUSBAND.’ A night and a day passed after this without any incident. What the chief persons in this strange drama were doing or thinking was hid under an impenetrable veil to all the world. Life at Blencarrow went on as usual. The frost was now keen and the pond was bearing; the youngsters had forgotten everything except the delight of the ice. Even Emmy had been dragged out, and showed a little colour in her pale cheeks, and a flush of pleasure in her eyes, as she made timid essays in the art of skating, under the auspices of her brothers. When she proved too timid for much progress, they put her in a chair and drew her carriage from end to end of the pond, growing more and more rosy and bright. Mrs. Blencarrow herself came down in the afternoon to see them at their play, and since the pond at Blencarrow was famed, there was a wonderful gathering of people whom Reginald and Bertie had invited, or who were used to come as soon as it was known that the pond ‘was bearing.’