'O what a week it has been! And I have sown dissension in the family! And no one can tell what may be the consequence with Elliot! And he will be unhappy! O! Marian--I wish--I wish you had let me go on my own way and be miserable alone,' added she with a kind of anger.
'It was your own doing,' said Marian gently; 'you felt it to be right. Only worse misery could come of your going on, for that would have been positive wrong; now it must and will get better.'
'I don't know,' sighed Caroline. 'I never knew till now how much I cared for him! O, Marian!' and she burst into a hearty fit of crying.
Marian was perplexed, as she always was when any one cried, and stood without a word till Caroline had relieved herself by tears, and began to speak again. It was very sad and melancholy, and it was very difficult to find anything to answer; Marian could see no consolation but that 'it was right,' and that did not seem to have much effect on Caroline; while, added to the former trouble of renouncing the man who loved her, and of grieving her parents, there was the dread of what Elliot might do in his anger.
However, the being able to pour everything out to so true a friend was more of a comfort than anything that, could have been said to her. She told Marian that she had gone through the conversations with her father and mother better than she could have thought possible. She could not desert poor Walter, that was one thing that helped her, she must stand by him, and papa was not half so angry as she expected. It seemed as if her strength had grown with each occasion for it. The first effort of writing to Walter had cost her most of all, then the allowing him to break the matter to her father had been dreadful; but after all, the conferences with her parents, singly and together, had not been as bad as the fear of them, and Marian tried to persuade her that it would be the same when she saw Mr. Faulkner, but poor Caroline shook her head, and said Marian knew nothing about it. And Marian was much of the same opinion, and held her peace, but before the end of the conversation she had the great pleasure of hearing Caroline say, 'The thought of being able to have you again has been the one great help to me through all!'
Two days after this, as Marian and Lionel were going out riding together, Marian exclaimed, 'I do believe that is Mr. Faulkner!'
'Where?'
'Riding on the Salisbury road,' said Marian; 'I am sure it is his horse.'
'Don't let us meet him! can't we get out of the way?' said Lionel. 'Aren't we somewhere near the thorny lane?'
'No, but we might ride off on the Down. Only take care, Lionel; you had better keep close to me,' said Marian, much more unwilling to meet Mr. Faulkner than to conduct Lionel through the ups and downs of the green, chalky common.
She watched and guided his pony up the bank and upon the Down, and on they trotted fast, for Marian was actuated by a very undignified fit of terror lest she should meet Mr. Faulkner, towards whom she felt positively guilty, nor did she wish to be seen fleeing from him.
'We must be out of sight of the road by this time, aren't we?' said Lionel.
'I don't know,' Marian turned her head to see. At that moment Lionel's pony stepped into a hole, stumbled, and when she looked back again, there was Lionel on the ground. Her head swam with fear, but the next moment Lionel was on his feet and laughing.
'Not hurt, Lionel! are you sure?'
'Not a bit! Is that Sorrel?'
Sorrel was rushing off with his bridle loose, and Marian began to dread having Mr. Faulkner's assistance in catching him. 'Stand still, Lionel!' she called, and then riding between Sorrel and the road, she managed to turn him towards a long hedge that crossed the Down, saw him stop to eat a tuft of grass, made a grasp at his bridle, but failed, while he dashed off across the Down, happily not towards the road.
She called to Lionel, told him of her ill success, and begged him not to move, while she again pursued the runaway, and a long dance he led her, far out of sight of Lionel. Once she had considerable hopes, when she came in sight of a shepherd boy, who stood in amaze at the lady in chase
