PART FIVE
CHAPTER XXX. WAITING ON DESTINY
Throughout the day Marian kept her room. Her intention to leave
the house was, of course, abandoned; she was the prisoner of
fate. Mrs Yule would have tended her with unremitting devotion,
but the girl desired to be alone. At times she lay in silent
anguish; frequently her tears broke forth, and she sobbed until
weariness overcame her. In the afternoon she wrote a letter to Mr
Holden, begging that she might be kept constantly acquainted with
the progress of things.
At five her mother brought tea.
'Wouldn't it be better if you went to bed now, Marian?' she
suggested.
'To bed? But I am going out in an hour or two.'
'Oh, you can't, dear! It's so bitterly cold. It wouldn't be good
for you.'
'I have to go out, mother, so we won't speak of it.'
It was not safe to reply. Mrs Yule sat down, and watched the girl
raise the cup to her mouth with trembling hand.
'This won't make any difference to you--in the end, my darling,'
the mother ventured to say at length, alluding for the first time
to the effect of the catastrophe on Marian's immediate prospects.
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