She had continued thus during more than half an hour after her uncle's departure, when she heard a horse stop before the door of the house, and her heart beat, though she knew not wherefore. Her lover might have come at length, indeed; but if that dream crossed her mind it was soon swept away; for the next instant she heard her father's voice, first inquiring for herself, and then asking, in a lower tone, if his brother was within. If Edith had felt hope before, she now felt apprehension; for during several years no private conversation had taken place between her father and herself without bringing with it grief and anxiety, harsh words spoken, and answers painful for a child to give. It seldom happens that fear does not go beyond reality; but such was not the case in the present instance; for Edith Croyland had to undergo far more than she expected. Her father entered the room where she sat, with a slow step and a stern and determined look. His face was very pale, too; his lips themselves seemed bloodless, and the terrible emotions which were in his heart showed themselves upon his countenance by many an intelligible but indescribable sign. As soon as Edith saw him, she thought, "He has heard of Henry's return to this country. It is that which has brought him;" and she nerved her heart for a new struggle; but still she could scarcely prevent her limbs from shaking, as she rose and advanced to meet her parent. Sir Robert Croyland drew her to him, and kissed her tenderly enough; for, in truth, he loved her very dearly: and then he led her back to the sofa, and seated himself beside her. "How low these abominable contrivances are," he said; "I do wish that Zachary would have some sofas that people can sit upon with comfort, instead of these beastly things, only fit for a Turkish harem, or a dog-kennel." Edith made no reply; for she waited in dread of what was to follow, and could not speak of trifles. But her father presently went on, saying, "So, my brother is out, and not likely to return for an hour or two!--Well, I am glad of it, Edith; for I came over to speak with you on matters of much moment." Still Edith was silent; for she durst not trust her voice with any reply. She feared that her courage would give way at the first words, and that she should burst into tears, when she felt sure that all the resolution she could command, would be required to bear her safely through. She trusted, indeed, that, as she had often found before, her spirit would rise with the occasion, and that she should find powers of resistance within her in the time of need, though she shrank from the contemplation of what was to come.