Gertrude sought her sister on leaving Mrs. Pendarrel, and found her in a humour very different from what she had expected. "So, Mildred, dear," she said, "we part. They take you to the enchanted castle, and where is the knight to wind the magic horn? Seriously, my poor sister, what will you do at Pendarrel?" "Do, Gertrude!" exclaimed the younger sister, who might have been dreaming of the knight. "My despondency is gone. I am ready for the worst." "And prepared...." "Not to marry Mr. Melcomb, I assure you. You may lead a horse to the water, but who shall make him drink? All the vixen rises in my bosom, Gertrude. Mamma said something about my daring. I believe she has put me fairly upon my mettle, and will find I inherit it from her. So! Mildred!" She flourished an imaginary whip. Her sister was perplexed, and a little troubled at her manner. She changed it suddenly. "Oh, Gertrude!" she said, "do not think this levity comes from a light heart. I do know how hard a part I have to play. I do contemplate with sorrow this visit to Pendarrel,--so different from those in the old time, when we loved the country so much. With sorrow, but without fear." "Ah, my sister!" said Mrs. Winston, "you are braver than I. See, you will be alone. Even Mr. Melcomb will not be there. You will be led on, and on, till you are completely entangled." "No, no," answered Mildred. "And for him, I shall rejoice if he is away. He has had one chance of being generous, he will never have another. Who is so base as the man who would take a young girl's hand against her will?" The sisters continued for some time in consultation, and parted with an oft-repeated embrace, and many promises of correspondence. When Mrs. Pendarrel desired Mildred, on learning her attempted refusal of her suitor, to prepare for an immediate journey to Pendarrel, the one idea which arose in the young lady's mind was, that she should be near Trevethlan Castle. Many a train of thought developed itself from that suggestion, all ending in some vision of Randolph. And it was probably from such anticipations that she derived the seeming animation which perplexed her sister at this parting interview. CHAPTER XVI. _Don John._ Grow this to what adverse issue it can, I will put it in practice. Be cunning in the working this, and thy fee is a thousand ducats. _Borachio_. Be you constant in the accusation, and my cunning shall not shame me. SHAKSPEARE.