She went upstairs to Dahlia, simply stating that their father was aware of all the circumstances.

Dahlia looked at her, but dared ask nothing.

So the day passed.  Neither Robert nor Anthony appeared.  The night came:  all doors were locked.  The sisters that night slept together, feeling the very pulses of the hours; yet neither of them absolutely hopelessly, although in a great anguish.

Rhoda was dressed by daylight.  The old familiar country about the house lay still as if it knew no expectation.  She observed Master Gammon tramping forth afield, and presently heard her father’s voice below.  All the machinery of the daily life got into motion; but it was evident that Robert and Anthony continued to be absent.  A thought struck her that Robert had killed the man.  It came with a flash of joy that was speedily terror, and she fell to praying vehemently and vaguely.  Dahlia lay exhausted on the bed, but nigh the hour when letters were delivered, she sat up, saying, “There is one for me; get it.”

There was in truth a letter for her below, and it was in her father’s hand and open.

“Come out,” said the farmer, as Rhoda entered to him.  When they were in the garden, he commanded her to read and tell him the meaning of it.  The letter was addressed to Dahlia Fleming.

“It’s for my sister,” Rhoda murmured, in anger, but more in fear.

She was sternly bidden to read, and she read,—­

     Dahlia,—­There is mercy for us.  You are not lost to me.

“Edward.”

After this, was appended in a feminine hand:—­

“There is really hope.  A few hours will tell us.  But keep firm.  If he comes near you, keep from him.  You are not his.  Run, hide, go anywhere, if you have reason to think he is near.  I dare not write what it is we expect.  Yesterday I told you to hope; to-day I can say, believe that you will be saved.  You are not lost.  Everything depends on your firmness.

“Margaret L.”

Rhoda lifted up her eyes.

The farmer seized the letter, and laid his finger on the first signature.

“Is that the christian name of my girl’s seducer?”

He did not wait for an answer, but turned and went into the breakfast-table, when he ordered a tray with breakfast for Dahlia to betaken up to her bed-room; and that done, he himself turned the key of the door, and secured her.  Mute woe was on Mrs. Sumfit’s face at all these strange doings, but none heeded her, and she smothered her lamentations.  The farmer spoke nothing either of Robert or of Anthony.  He sat in his chair till the dinner hour, without book or pipe, without occupation for eyes or hands; silent, but acute in his hearing.