It seemed as evident that she was doomed to
disappointment to-night. Fellowes was one of the last to leave, and it
was impossible that any other guest could arrive now.
Barbara dismissed her maid quickly, almost impatiently, that night. She
wanted to be alone. She expected to have done so much this evening,
expected that she would have known her fate by now. She had faced the
worst, she was prepared to pay the price, whatever it might be, always
with a hope that it would not be as bad as she anticipated. Everything
was yet to do, the uncertainty was still hers; the delay gave her lonely
hours in which to realise all that this sacrifice might involve, and
involuntarily she shrank from it. She was not less resolved, however,
and there was an added incentive in the fact that the difficulties in
her way were greater than she had expected. Sir John's arrival could
have only one meaning; he must know, or had guessed, the real reason of
Harriet Payne's coming to the Abbey, and had immediately travelled to
town to ensure that, if he could possibly prevent it, no help should be
given to Gilbert Crosby. His apology made no impression upon her, and
she believed him capable of committing any villainy to get his own way.
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