There was a chance of discovery, and if his crime should
come to light his whole future life would be ruined. He pictured his
excommunication, his father's agony, and it was only when it seemed
possible that the water might close over the ghastly thing thrown in
it, and no ripple reveal what lay underneath, that he was able to
breathe again. Immediately he asked himself, however, IF he could
live with his father and wear a mask, and never betray his dreadful
secret. So he wandered homeward in the most miserable of all
conditions; he was paralysed by the intricacy of the coil which
enveloped and grasped him.
That evening it happened that there was a musical party at his
father's house; and, of course, he was expected to assist. It would
have suited his mood better if he could have been in his own room, or
out in the streets, but absence would have been inconsistent with his
disguise, and might have led to betrayal. Consequently he was
present, and the gaiety of the company and the excitement of his
favourite exercise, brought about for a time forgetfulness of his
trouble. Amongst the performers was a distant cousin, Cecilia
Morland, a young woman rather tall and fully developed; not
strikingly beautiful, but with a lovely reddish-brown tint on her
face, indicative of healthy, warm, rich pulsations. She possessed a
contralto voice, of a quality like that of a blackbird, and it fell
to her and to Frank to sing.
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