How was I going to tell them? The carriage went like the wind, and I
could hear the clashing of the boughs under which we passed. The
stillness of the afternoon had been but the prelude to a storm.
Also the memory of Richard Dawson's face remained with me like a sore.
Now that I was free of him and need dread him no more, I remembered that
he had been generous and patient, and I was grieved for him. And I was
troubled about that consolation which he was on the way to seek. But my
own troubles were so imminent and pressing as almost to push that out.
How was I going to tell them--at the last hour, too--with my
wedding-dress home, and the wedding-breakfast cooking in the big
kitchens, with a stir of life we had not had in Aghadoe for many a day?
It was well the journey did not take very long, or I don't know how I
should have endured the strain on my nerves.
While my mind was still in confusion the carriage drew up at the front
door of the Abbey. I alighted and went up the steps. The hall door stood
open, and as I entered Neil Doherty came from the back. I thought he
looked pale.
"Miss Bawn," he began; but I could not wait to hear him. I ran up the
stairs to the drawing-room.
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