The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

“Certainly not,” I replied. “She must be quite as ignorant as we are.” Laura shook her head doubtfully. “Did you not hear from the housekeeper that there was a report of Anne Catherick having been seen in this neighbourhood? Don’t you think he may have gone away to look for her?” “I would rather compose myself, Laura, by not thinking about it at all, and after what has happened, you had better follow my example. Come into my room, and rest and quiet yourself a little.” We sat down together close to the window, and let the fragrant summer air breathe over our faces. “I am ashamed to look at you, Marian,” she said, “after what you submitted to downstairs, for my sake. Oh, my own love, I am almost heartbroken when I think of it! But I will try to make it up to you⁠—I will indeed!” “Hush! hush!” I replied; “don’t talk so. What is the trifling mortification of my pride compared to the dreadful sacrifice of your happiness?” “You heard what he said to me?” she went on quickly and vehemently. “You heard the words⁠—but you don’t know what they meant⁠—you don’t know why I threw down the pen and turned my back on him.” She rose in sudden agitation, and walked about the room. “I have kept many things from your knowledge, Marian, for fear of distressing you, and making you unhappy at the outset of