Its hint of future leniency made Rosedale rise in obedience to it, a little flushed with his unhoped-for success, and disciplined by the tradition of his blood to accept what was conceded, without undue haste to press for more.

Something in his prompt acquiescence frightened her; she felt behind it the stored force of a patience that might subdue the strongest will.

But at least they had parted amicably, and he was out of the house without meeting Selden--Selden, whose continued absence now smote her with a new alarm.
Rosedale had remained over an hour, and she understood that it was now too late to hope for Selden.

He would write explaining his absence, of course; there would be a note from him by the late post.

But her confession would have to be postponed; and the chill of the delay settled heavily on her fagged spirit.
It lay heavier when the postman's last ring brought no note for her, and she had to go upstairs to a lonely night--a night as grim and sleepless as her tortured fancy had pictured it to Gerty.