"Poor little woman! Can't I take the dreadful part of it for you? I shan't mind it."
"You can't. I know it will be better for us both if you will not have anything to do with it just yet."
"I think I must see your uncle, dear, before I go away again."
"Well—if you think it best. But it will do no good with Aunt Elizabeth. He leaves it all to her."
Mr. Dalrymple gazed thoughtfully at the distant horizon, where little points of yellow twinkled in the silvery obscurity of the moonshiny bay.
He was deeply troubled and perplexed about this tender little creature, and the idea of leaving her to bear the brunt of unknown trials for his sake, seemed too preposterous to be taken seriously. And yet what else could he do?
"Tell me," he said presently, stroking her silky head as it lay on his breast, "tell me what is the worst that can happen to you, Rachel?"
"The worst," sighed Rachel, "will be hearing Aunt Elizabeth tell me that I have repaid all her generosity and kindness to me with ingratitude and treachery."
"That will be very bad. But you will have to try and make her understand the real right and justice of it, love. She must see it, unless she is stone blind. She can't expect us to outrage all the laws of nature to suit her narrow schemes. You don't think there will be anything still worse?—that she will make your life wretched by making you feel your dependence—that kind of thing?"
"I am not sure," said Rachel. "She has been very, very good to me; but lately—since she has got suspicious about you—she has been hard. However, if the worst comes to the worst, I can go and be a governess or companion somewhere until you are ready for me."