She had failed. For once more she recognized that
an unknown influence, a power dark and incalculably strong--so she
figured it--regained ascendency over her father, working to the insidious
changing of his nature, strangely winning him away. Waiting for some
response, some speech or comment on his part, fear and the sense of
helplessness assailed, and would have submerged her, had she not clung to
Carteret's parting "God bless you" and avowed faith in her stability, as
to a wonder-working charm. Nor did the charm fail in efficacy.--Oh!
really he was a wonderful sheet-anchor, "the shadow of a great rock in a
weary land," that dear man with the blue eyes! Consciously she blessed
him.--And, thanks to remembrance of him, presently found voice and
purpose once again.
"You aren't displeased with me, dearest?" she asked.
"Displeased?" Charles Verity repeated, at first absently. "Displeased, my
dear, no--why?"
"We didn't do wrong?"--labouring the point, the more fully to recall and
retain him--"Didn't take too much upon ourselves--Aunt Felicia, I mean,
and I--by persuading Darcy Faircloth to stay on Sunday, by entertaining
him when you were away? Or--or have I been stupid, dearest, and
thoughtlessly wearied you by talking too much and too long?"
"Neither," he said.
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