An hour later the same footman who had brought the note came to announce luncheon. Alicia was sitting in the same position, her eyes fixed upon the open letter. A strange leaven had been at work in her mind; an overwhelming desire to see and be with Roger March. Suddenly Sir Percy Carlyon and Colegrove had become insignificant to her; even her father was, for once, forgotten. She rose and went downstairs, trying to shake from her this new and strange obsession. What insanity would it be for her to go to Roger March! Almost every penny she had in the world, her house, her carriages, nine-tenths of her income, would be forfeited by the least attempt to see or communicate with her husband. General Talbott was awaiting her, and together they sat down in the gorgeous dining-room to the small round table which they commonly used when alone. General Talbott noticed nothing out of the usual in his daughter except that she was rather silent and ate nothing. Alicia herself scarcely recognised her own mind and heart and soul engaged in a conflict with her own closest and greatest interests. When luncheon was over, General Talbott said: "This wintry weather will keep me indoors for the afternoon." To which Alicia replied: "I, too, shall remain at home and shall not see any visitors." She went up to her boudoir, fighting at every step the impulse within her to take the first train for the Northwest. As a bar to her leaving the house, she rang for her maid and put on a _négligée_ robe and slippers, and lying down among the pillows of a luxurious sofa, drawn up to the fire, shut her eyes and tried to sleep. It was in vain. Before her came the vision of her husband, "mortally ill," as Colegrove had said. She had never seen Roger March ill in her life, but she had a prophetic vision of how he looked, pale and grey, with a gentle stoicism, a stern patience, and he was alone in an adobe hut among the far-off hills of the Northwest. If she went to him he would no doubt repulse her. She repeated this to herself resolutely, and in the act of repeating it rose and dressed herself, without the assistance of her maid, in a travelling dress, and put a few things in a travelling case. Two voices, each trying to drown the other, shrieked within her, the one representing the madness of going to Roger March, and the other dragging her against her will. She rang for her carriage and then, sitting at her desk, wrote a few lines to her father: "I have heard that my husband is fatally ill. I am going to him, although I lose most of what I have by it."