It was of this cloud
between them that she was thinking now, and it was that which shadowed
her face. She had not noted very keenly what was going forward about
her. She had shrunk from the judge's excitement and agitation, as she
always did from all violence; but the meaning of his words had not
impressed her deeply or even clearly. Her gentle nature and her tranquil
life were too far from strife, cruelty, and crime for her to grasp the
full purport of the story. She had heard William Pressley speak of
telling Philip Alston, without giving the matter a thought. It was right
in her eyes that he should be told everything. The mention of his name
caused her to think that it would be well to tell him of her quarrel
with William and of her regret and self-reproach. He was wise and kind,
and would know what was right and best to do. Perhaps he might even see
some way by which the engagement could be broken without wrong or hurt
to William's feelings. A measure of peace came with the hope, and she
was presently gazing into the fire, dreaming more than thinking, and
feeling assured that the doctor would stop when he went by on the next
morning.
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