"Well, then, I can only say again that I trust you may be mistaken," answered the squire, firmly; "for I'm afraid that he will certainly forget her."
"I don't believe it," cried I.
"You can imagine that I do not willingly say such a thing of my own kith and kin," he answered, with just a touch of his old irritability in his voice, "but I fear that it might be so. Frank's mother is an ambitious woman, the family is poor, and she has set her heart upon his marrying an heiress. In fact, there is a particular heiress to whom she is now urging him to pay his suit. He is a fascinating fellow when he likes. I dare say he will succeed if he tries. And he appreciates the comfort of having his bread buttered without any trouble. I'm afraid he might try."
I was silent—dumfounded.
"No," added the squire; "far from trying to bring your sister and Frank together again, I shall do my uttermost to keep them apart. I shall work upon every sense of honor that Frank has—and, thank God! he may be weak, but he is not wanting in a sense of honor—to induce him never to see her again. Then you will see soon, very soon, she will release him from the fictitious tie that binds them, and will leave herself free to choose again, and to choose more wisely."
"Joyce will never choose again," muttered I.
There was a great lump in my throat that almost prevented me from getting out the words. My tongue was quite dry and would not move, and I was conscious of a cold chill upon my forehead and upon my lips, even though they were parched. I locked my hands together—they, too, were quite cold.
The squire came towards me, he came quite close. The room was very dim now, although the sun had only just set without, for the windows did not look towards the sun-setting. All the irritability called up by my insane obstinacy had melted out of his face; it was very tender. He looked at me again with that strange pity in his eyes.
"Ah, my child," said he, taking one of my hands in his, "why do you try so hard to persuade me that your sister loves Frank? Why do you try so hard to persuade yourself of it?"
Yes, why did I try so hard? I did not answer, but the lump swelled bigger than ever in my throat. I unclasped my hands, and let my arms fall down straight at my sides, and looked up into his face. For a moment a wild impulse seized upon me to tell the squire something of why I tried to persuade myself of that thing. I felt so sure of the deep, loyal friendship that shone out of his eyes as he looked at me. It was as though he were some big, strong, unknown brother come to help me in my trouble; I had never had a brother. But the moment passed.