So urgently she spoke, so wistfully she looked, that he could not refuse and, going to the window, read the letter. It was evidently an answer to a passionate appeal from the young lover, and was written with consummate skill. As he read, Gerald could not help thinking, If this girl writes in this way to a man whom she does not love, with what a world of power and passion would she write to one whom she did love. And this thought kept returning to him as his eye went over line after line of wise argument, gentle reproof, good counsel, and friendly regard. Here and there a word, a phrase, betrayed what she had already confessed, and Coventry forgot to return the letter, as he stood wondering who was the man whom Jean loved.
The sound of Bella’s voice recalled him, for she was saying, half kindly, half petulantly, “Don’t look so sad, Jean. Ned will outlive it, I dare say. You remember you said once men never died of love, though women might. In his one note to me, he spoke so beautifully of you, and begged me to be kind to you for his sake, that I try to be with all my heart, though if it was anyone but you, I really think I should hate them for making my dear boy so unhappy.”
“You are too kind, Bella, and I often think I’ll go away to relieve you of my presence; but unwise and dangerous as it is to stay, I haven’t the courage to go. I’ve been so happy here.” And as she spoke, Jean’s head dropped lower over the dog as it nestled to her affectionately.
Before Bella could utter half the loving words that sprang to her lips, Coventry came to them with all languor gone from face and mien, and laying Jean’s letter before her, he said, with an undertone of deep feeling in his usually emotionless voice, “A right womanly and eloquent letter, but I fear it will only increase the fire it was meant to quench. I pity my brother more than ever now.”
“Shall I send it?” asked Jean, looking straight up at him, like one who had entire reliance on his judgment.
“Yes, I have not the heart to rob him of such a sweet sermon upon self-sacrifice. Shall I post it for you?”
“Thank you; in a moment.” And with a grateful look, Jean dropped her eyes. Producing her little purse, she selected a penny, folded it in a bit of paper, and then offered both letter and coin to Coventry, with such a pretty air of business, that he could not control a laugh.
“So you won’t be indebted to me for a penny? What a proud woman you are, Miss Muir.”
“I am; it’s a family failing.” And she gave him a significant glance, which recalled to him the memory of who she was. He understood her feeling, and liked her the better for it, knowing that he would have done the same had he been in her place. It was a little thing, but if done for effect, it answered admirably, for it showed a quick insight into his character on her part, and betrayed to him the existence of a pride in which he sympathized heartily. He stood by Jean a moment, watching her as she burnt Edward’s letter in the blaze of the spirit lamp under the urn.
“Why do you do that?” he asked involuntarily.
“Because it is my duty to forget,” was all her answer.
“Can you always forget when it becomes a duty?”
“I wish I could! I wish I could!”
She spoke passionately, as if the words broke from her against her will, and, rising hastily, she went into the garden, as if afraid to stay.
“Poor, dear Jean is very unhappy about something, but I can’t discover what it is. Last night I found her crying over a rose, and now she runs away, looking as if her heart was broken. I’m glad I’ve got no lessons.”
“What kind of a rose?” asked Coventry from behind his paper as Bella paused.
“A lovely white one. It must have come from the Hall; we have none like it. I wonder if Jean was ever going to be married, and lost her lover, and felt sad because the flower reminded her of bridal roses.”
Coventry made no reply, but felt himself change countenance as he recalled the little scene behind the rose hedge, where he gave Jean the flower which she had refused yet taken. Presently, to Bella’s surprise, he flung down the paper, tore Sydney’s note to atoms, and rang for his horse with an energy which amazed her.
“Why, Gerald, what has come over you? One would think Ned’s restless spirit had suddenly taken possession of you. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to work,” was the unexpected answer, as Coventry turned toward her with an expression so rarely seen on his fine face.
“What has waked you up all at once?” asked Bella, looking more and more amazed.
“You did,” he said, drawing her toward him.
“I! When? How?”
“Do you remember saying once that energy was better than beauty in a man, and that no one could respect an idler?”
“I never said anything half so sensible as that. Jean said something like it once, I believe, but I forgot. Are you tired of doing nothing, at last, Gerald?”
“Yes, I neglected my duty to Ned, till he got into trouble, and now I reproach myself for it. It’s not too late to do other neglected tasks, so I’m going at them with a will. Don’t say anything about it to anyone, and don’t laugh at me, for I’m in earnest, Bell.”
“I know you are, and I admire and love you for it, my dear old boy,” cried Bella enthusiastically, as she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him heartily. “What will you do first?” she asked, as he stood thoughtfully smoothing the bright head that leaned upon his
