Easterby.
It had been a strange time. All externally was a great hush. There
was perfect rest from the tumult of society, and from the harassing
state of tacit resistance habitual to her. This was the holy
quietude for which she had longed, yet where was the power to feel
and profit by it? Did not the peace without only make her hear the
storm within all the more?
A storm had truly been raging within ever since Conny Strangeways
had triumphantly exhibited the prize she had won from Frank Charnock
at the races; and Camilla had taken care that full and undeniable
evidence should prove that this was not all that the young man had
lost upon the Backsworth race-ground.
Lenore might guess, with her peculiarly painful intuition, who had
been the tempter, but that did not lessen her severity towards the
victim. In her resolution against a betting man, had she not
trusted Frank too implicitly even to warn him of her vow? Nay, had
she not felt him drifting from her all through the season, unjustly
angered, unworthily distrustful, easily led astray? All the
misgivings that had fretted her at intervals and then cleared away
seemed to gather into one conviction--Frank had failed her!
Eleonora's nature was one to resent before grieving.
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