He put the book back in his pocket, and passed his handkerchief over his
face. After a moment of indecision, he suddenly and swiftly stole out of
the room, as if he was afraid of their calling somebody in, and stopping
him. At the door he turned round for a moment, and said, "You will hear
how this ends. I wish you good-morning."
The door closed on him. Left by themselves, they began to realize it.
They thought of the consequences when his back was turned and it was too
late.
The Graybrookes! Now he knew it, what would become of the Graybrookes?
What would he do when he got back? Even at ordinary times--when he was
on his best behavior--he was a rough man. What would happen? Oh, good
God! what would happen when he and Natalie next stood face to face? It
was a lonely house--Natalie had told them about it--no neighbors near;
nobody by to interfere but the weak old father and the maiden aunt.
Something ought to be done. Some steps ought to be taken to warn them.
Advice--who could give advice? Who was the first person who ought to
be told of what had happened? Lady Winwood? No! even at that crisis the
sisters still shrank from their stepmother--still hated her with the old
hatred! Not a word to _her!_ They owed no duty to _her!_ Who else could
they appeal to? To their father? Yes! There was the person to advise
them.
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