'nothing at all--nothing.'

About half-an-hour afterwards, listening at her own door, she heard
the sound of her uncle's feet as he went to his room, and knew that
the house was quiet. Then she crept forth, and went about her
business. Nobody should say that she neglected anything because of
this unhappiness. She brushed the crumbs from the long table, and
smoothed the cloth for the next morning's breakfast; she put away
bottles and dishes, and she locked up cupboards, and saw that the
windows and the doors were fastened. Then she went down to her
books in the little office below stairs. In the performance of her
daily duty there were entries to be made and figures to be adjusted,
which would have been done in the course of the evening, had it not
been that she had been driven upstairs by fear of her lover and her
uncle. But by the time that she took herself up to bed, nothing had
been omitted. And after the book was closed she sat there, trying
to resolve what she would do. Nothing had, perhaps, given her so
sharp a pang as her aunt's assurance that George Voss would not come
back to her, as her aunt's suspicion that she was looking for his
return. It was not that she had been deserted, but that others
should be able to taunt her with her desolation. She had never
whispered the name of George to any one since he had left Granpere,
and she thought that she might have been spared this indignity. 'If
he fancies I want to interfere with him,' she said to herself,
thinking of her uncle, and of her uncle's plans in reference to his
son, 'he will find that he is mistaken.' Then it occurred to her
that she would be driven to accept Adrian Urmand to prove that she
was heart-whole in regard to George Voss.

She sat there, thinking of it till the night was half-spent, and