There was, however, a sort of blind terror in her mind. She had read that pathetic novel “Jasmine Leigh,” the plot of which turned on the forcible abduction of an heiress; and now, perhaps, not unnaturally the story returned to haunt her. Words which Ralph had spoken as to Sir Matthew’s unscrupulous character, his utter disregard for the victims whose ruin followed the triumphal procession of his own fame and fortune, haunted her, too. She had thought him hard and uncharitable when he had spoken of his godfather, but his words had impressed her nevertheless, and she felt that they were probably not far from the truth. Like some trapped animal, she tried desperately to think what possible course she could take. If only that motherly Mrs. Coniston had been in the hotel she would have told her all and asked her advice, but she could hardly put the case in a letter, or travel to Champéry to see her. And there was no one else to whom she could turn, unless it was Mr. Lewisham, and she doubted if that would be a wise thing to do. Only a woman could thoroughly understand and help her. And then the old grief of eight years ago, to which she had grown more or less accustomed, came back to her with an intensity of bitterness, a new realisation of irreparable loss. “Oh Mother!” she sobbed. “Oh Mother! Mother!” A step on the balcony made her hastily try to check her tears. Minnie’s room was next to hers, and the window also opened on to the little side balcony. “Why Evereld,” said a cheerful voice. “You dear little goose! Don’t cry. I know all about it. Papa has told me. Don’t you be frightened. It won’t be half so bad as you expect. You’ll soon grow very fond of Mr. Wylie. And you shall have such a pretty wedding dress and as many of your school friends as you like for bridesmaids. You have no idea what fun you will have choosing your _trousseau_. We will stop in Paris on our way home, and I can put you up to all sorts of things.” “Don’t talk like that,” said Evereld, her tears raining down, as the utter mockery of it all forced itself upon her. “Do you think,” continued Minnie, “that you are the first girl who has been obliged to give up an early love? Why it’s my firm conviction that no one ever does marry a first love. If Papa had allowed it I should have married a lanky curate, and we should still be waiting for the inevitable country living which might or might not turn up. He put a stop to it all. And I cried my eyes out just as you are doing. But I am very much obliged to him now and mean to be very happy with Major Gillot. Now stop crying, and I will make some tea in my etna, and later on you shall come out with us and do ‘gooseberry.’” “I’m afraid of meeting Mr. Wylie,” objected Evereld.