As Sydney’s name passed Bella’s lips, all the color died out of Miss Muir’s face, and the note shook with the tremor of her hand. Her very lips were white, but she said calmly, “Thank you. As you are busy, I’ll go and read my letter on the lawn.” And before Bella could speak, she was gone.
Hurrying to a quiet nook, Jean tore open the note and read the few blotted lines it contained.
I have seen Sydney; he has told me all; and, hard as I found it to believe, it was impossible to doubt, for he has discovered proofs which cannot be denied. I make no reproaches, shall demand no confession or atonement, for I cannot forget that I once loved you. I give you three days to find another home, before I return to tell the family who you are. Go at once, I beseech you, and spare me the pain of seeing your disgrace.
Slowly, steadily she read it twice over, then sat motionless, knitting her brows in deep thought. Presently she drew a long breath, tore up the note, and rising, went slowly toward the Hall, saying to herself, “Three days, only three days! Can it be accomplished in so short a time? It shall be, if wit and will can do it, for it is my last chance. If this fails, I’ll not go back to my old life, but end all at once.”
Setting her teeth and clenching her hands, as if some memory stung her, she went on through the twilight, to find Sir John waiting to give her a hearty welcome.
“You look tired, my dear. Never mind the reading tonight; rest yourself, and let the book go,” he said kindly, observing her worn look.
“Thank you, sir. I am tired, but I’d rather read, else the book will not be finished before I go.”
“Go, child! Where are you going?” demanded Sir John, looking anxiously at her as she sat down.
“I will tell you by-and-by, sir.” And opening the book, Jean read for a little while.
But the usual charm was gone; there was no spirit in the voice of the reader, no interest in the face of the listener, and soon he said, abruptly, “My dear, pray stop! I cannot listen with a divided mind. What troubles you? Tell your friend, and let him comfort you.”
As if the kind words overcame her, Jean dropped the book, covered up her face, and wept so bitterly that Sir John was much alarmed; for such a demonstration was doubly touching in one who usually was all gaiety and smiles. As he tried to soothe her, his words grew tender, his solicitude full of a more than paternal anxiety, and his kind heart overflowed with pity and affection for the weeping girl. As she grew calmer, he urged her to be frank, promising to help and counsel her, whatever the affliction or fault might be.
“Ah, you are too kind, too generous! How can I go away and leave my one friend?” sighed Jean, wiping the tears away and looking up at him with grateful eyes.
“Then you do care a little for the old man?” said Sir John with an eager look, an involuntary pressure of the hand he held.
Jean turned her face away, and answered, very low, “No one ever was so kind to me as you have been. Can I help caring for you more than I can express?”
Sir John was a little deaf at times, but he heard that, and looked well pleased. He had been rather thoughtful of late, had dressed with unusual care, been particularly gallant and gay when the young ladies visited him, and more than once, when Jean paused in the reading to ask a question, he had been forced to confess that he had not been listening; though, as she well knew, his eyes had been fixed upon her. Since the discovery of her birth, his manner had been peculiarly benignant, and many little acts had proved his interest and goodwill. Now, when Jean spoke of going, a panic seized him, and desolation seemed about to fall upon the old Hall. Something in her unusual agitation struck him as peculiar and excited his curiosity. Never had she seemed so interesting as now, when she sat beside him with tearful eyes, and some soft trouble in her heart which she dared not confess.
“Tell me everything, child, and let your friend help you if he can.” Formerly he said “father” or “the old man,” but lately he always spoke of himself as her “friend.”
“I will tell you, for I have no one else to turn to. I must go away because Mr. Coventry has been weak enough to love me.”
“What, Gerald?” cried Sir John, amazed.
“Yes; today he told me this, and left me to break with Lucia; so I ran to you to help me prevent him from disappointing his mother’s hopes and plans.”
Sir John had started up and paced down the room, but as Jean paused he turned toward her, saying, with an altered face, “Then you do not love him? Is it possible?”
“No, I do not love him,” she answered promptly.
“Yet he is all that women usually find attractive. How is it that you have escaped, Jean?”
“I love someone else,” was the scarcely audible reply.
Sir John resumed his seat with the air of a man bent on getting at a mystery, if possible.
“It will be unjust to let you suffer for the folly of these boys, my little girl. Ned is gone, and I was sure that Gerald was safe; but now that his turn has come, I am perplexed, for he cannot be sent away.”
“No, it is I who must go; but it seems so hard to leave this safe and happy home,
