Her sentence came to an abrupt end. Percival had turned aside and flung himself into an arm-chair near the fire. He was the picture of ill-humour; and something in his face took away from Elizabeth the desire to say more. Mrs. Heron read the letters complacently, and Kitty put her arm round her cousin's, waist and tried to draw her towards the hearth-rug for a gossip. But Elizabeth preserved her position near Mrs. Heron's sofa, although she looked down at the girl with a smile.
"I know what Isabel meant—what we all meant," said Kitty, "when we were so disagreeable to you a little time ago, Lizzie. We all felt that we could not for one moment have kept a secret from you, and we resented your superior self-control. Fancy your knowing all this for the last fortnight, and never saying a word about it! Tell me in confidence, Lizzie, now didn't you want to whisper it to me, under solemn vows of secrecy?"
"I'm afraid you would never have kept your vows," said Elizabeth. "I meant to tell you very soon, Kitty."
"And so you are a rich woman, Elizabeth!" observed Mrs. Heron, putting down the letters and smoothing out her dress. "Dear me, how strangely things come round! Who would have dreamt, ten years ago, that you would ever be richer than all of us—richer than your poor uncle, who was then so kind to you! Some people are very fortunate!"
"Some people deserve to be fortunate, Isabel," said Kitty, caressing Elizabeth's hand, in order to soften down the effect of Mrs. Heron's sub-acid speech. But Elizabeth did not seem to be annoyed by it. She was thinking of other things.
"I am sure that if any one deserves it, Elizabeth does," said Mrs. Heron, recovering her usual placidity of demeanour. "She has always been good and kind to everyone around her. I tremble to think of what will become of dear Harry, and Will, and Jack."
"What should become of them?" said Kitty, in a startled tone.
"When Elizabeth leaves us"—Mrs. Heron murmured, applying her handkerchief to her eyes—"the poor children will know the difference."
"But you won't leave us, will you, Elizabeth?" cried Kitty, clinging more closely to her cousin, and looking up to her with tears in her eyes. "You wouldn't go away from us, after living with us all these years, darling? Oh, I thought that you loved us as if you were really our own sister, and that nothing would ever take you away!"
Still Elizabeth did not speak. Kitty's brown head rested on her shoulder, and she stroked it gently with one hand. Her lips were very grave, but her eyes, as she raised them for a moment to Percival's face, had a smile hidden in their hazel depths—a smile which he could not understand, and which, therefore, made him angry. He rose and stood on the hearth-rug with his hands behind him, as he delivered his little homily for Kitty's benefit.