any duty, that this trouble had come upon me? I tried to
think. I could not find that I had to blame myself on any such
score. It was not wrong to go to West Point last summer. I
held none but friendly relations with Mr. Thorold there, so
far as I knew. I was utterly taken by surprise, when at Miss
Cardigan's that night I found that we were more than friends.
Could I hide the fact then? Perhaps it would have been right
to do it, if I had known what I was about; but I did not know.
Mr. Thorold was going to the war; I had but a surprised
minute; it was simply impossible to hide from him all which
that minute revealed. Now? Now I was committed; my truth was
pledged; my heart was given. My heart might be broken, but
could never be taken back. Truth must be truth; and my life
was Mr. Thorold's if it belonged to anybody but my father and
mother. I settled that point. It was needless ever to look at
it again.

I had something else to tell Mr. Thorold; and here I took up
my walk through the room, but slowly now. I was not going to
be an heiress. I must tell him that. He must know all about
me. I would be a poor girl at last; not the rich, very rich,
Miss Randolph that people supposed I would be. No yearly
revenues; no Southern mansions and demesnes; no power of name
and place. Would Mr. Thorold care? I believed not. I had no
doubt but that his care was for myself alone, and that he
regarded as little as I the adventitious circumstances of
wealth and standing which I intended to cast from me.
Nevertheless, _I_ cared. Now, when it was not for myself, I did
care. For Mr. Thorold, I would have liked to be rich beyond my
riches, and powerful above my power. I would have liked to