"No, no; you must not interfere," she said. "It is too late, too late.
Don't you remember Lucy? Don't you know she is to be his wife? Lucy
must not be sacrificed for me. I can bear it the best."
She knew she had betrayed her secret and she tried to take it back,
but Thornton interrupted her with, "Never mind now, Anna; I guessed it
all before, and it hurts my pride less to know that it is Arthur whom
you prefer to me; I do not blame you for it."
He smoothed her hair pityingly, while he stood over her for a moment,
wondering what his duty was. Anna had told him plainly what it was. He
must leave Arthur and Lucy alone. She insisted upon having it so, and
he promised her at least that he would not interfere; then, taking her
hand, he pressed it a moment between his own and went out from her
presence. In the hall below he met with Mrs. Meredith, who he knew was
waiting anxiously to hear the result of that long interview.
"Your niece will never be my wife, and I am satisfied to have it so,"
he said; then, as he saw the lowering of her brow, he continued: "I
have long suspected that she loved another, and my suspicions are
confirmed, though there's something I cannot understand," and fixing
his eyes searchingly upon Mrs. Meredith, he told her what Arthur had
written and of Anna's denial of the same. "Somebody played her false,"
he said, rather enjoying the look of terror and shame which crept into
the haughty woman's eyes, as she tried to appear natural and express
her own surprise at what she heard.
"I was right in my conjecture," Thornton thought, as he took his
leave of Mrs. Meredith who could not face Anna then, but paced
restlessly up and down her spacious rooms, wondering how much Thornton
had suspected and what the end would be.
She had sinned for naught. Anna had upset all her cherished plans,
and, could she have gone back for a few months and done her work
again, she would have left the letter lying where she found it. But
that could not be now. She must reap as she had sown, and resolving
finally to hope for the best and abide the result, she went up to
Anna, who having no suspicion of her, hurt her ten times more cruelly
by the perfect faith with which she confided the story to her than
bitter reproaches would have done.
"I know you wanted me to marry Mr. Hastings," Anna said, "and I would
if I could have done so conscientiously, but I could not; for, I may
now confess it to you, I did love Arthur so much; and once I hoped
that he loved me."