Cecil felt that every word he had spoken was good and true, and that he would not waver in his purpose for an instant. She remembered how, when they were returning together four days ago, the sidelong glance of a matronly Pharisee had lighted on her in a spiteful triumph, and how, though neither of them alluded to it afterward, the dark-red flash of anger had mounted to Royston's forehead. She had ceased to care for herself, but could she not save _him_ while yet there was time? And more--had she not wrought wrong enough to Mark Waring without having his murder on her soul? for she never doubted as to the result if those two should meet as foes.
They talk of hair that has grown gray in the briefest space of mental anguish. It is all a delusion and an old wife's fable. When Cecil rose the next morning there was not a silver line in her tresses. Outward signs of the mortal struggle, while it lasted, there were none, for her clasped hands veiled her face jealously; when she raised it, her cheek was paler than death and wet with an awful dew, and when she spoke her voice retained not one cadence of its wonted melody.
"You have prevailed, as the truth always ought to prevail. Now tell me what to do."
Mark Waring would have drained his heart's blood drop by drop to have lightened one throb of her agony, but he never thought of flinching from his purpose.
"There are perils where the only safety lies in flight. You must leave this before Major Keene returns, and he returns to-morrow."
Perhaps I have failed in making you understand one hereditary peculiarity of the Tresilyans. When their hand was fairly laid to the plow they were incapable of looking back. Had Mark come ten hours later, when Cecil's purpose was absolutely fixed, all his arguments would have been futile. As it was, once having decided finally on the line she was to take, it never occurred to her to make farther objections. "Yes, I will go," she said; "but I must write to him."
"I think you ought to do so," answered Waring, "and if you will give me the letter I will deliver it myself."
Every vestige of the returning color faded from Cecil's cheek. "You do not know him: I dare not trust you." He misinterpreted the cause of her terror. "I promise you that, however angry Major Keene may be, I will bear it patiently, and never dream of resenting it. He is safe from me now."