The
captain did not mention the subject again; possibly, on reflection,
he decided that he had already said too much. And she asked no more
questions. She determined not to question him--yet. She must think
first, and then ask someone else--Sylvester. He knew the truth and, if
taken by surprise, might be driven into confession, if there should be
anything to confess. She was waiting for an opportunity to be alone with
him, and that opportunity had not yet presented itself.
The captain would have spoken further with her concerning James Pearson.
He was eager to do that. But her mind was made up; she had sent her
lover away, and it was best for both. She must forget him, if she could.
So, when her uncle would have spoken on that subject, she begged him not
to; and he, respecting her feelings and believing that to urge would be
bad policy, refrained.
But to forget, she found, was an impossibility. In the excitement of the
journey and the arrival amid new surroundings, she had managed to
keep up a show of good spirits, but now alone once more, with the wind
singing mournfully about the gables and rattling the windows, she was
sad and so lonely. She thought what her life had once promised to be and
what it had become. She did not regret the old life, that life she had
known before her father died; she had been happy in it while he lived,
but miserable after his death.
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